Warpath
by JJ Rust
Summary: There is another wardrobe that leads to Narnia.  The Nazis have found it, and plan to use it to invade England.
1. Chapter 1

WARPATH 1 RUST - 14

_Thuringer Wald (Thuringian Forest), Germany_

_Summer, 1941_

"Are you sure we're not lost, _Sturmmann?"_ _Obersturmfuhrer_ Otto Skorzeny, Waffen-SS, groaned as he stared at the thick green trees and rolling mountains around him.

The young, stout enlisted man at the wheel of the rectangular, open air _Kubelwagen_ nodded, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the dirt road. "I assure you, _Herr Obersturmfuhrer, _this is the correct way to the base."

Skorzeny slowly bobbed his head from side-to-side. "If you say so. I'll be fully convinced when I see it for myself. It's been, what, a half-hour since we saw any sign of civilization?" He turned to the young _Sturmmann_, Brenmunster was his name. "I pity you poor folk, being stuck on a base in the middle of nowhere. No pubs to go to, or theaters or whorehouses. You must be bored out of your minds . . . if this base does exist."

"It does, _Mein Herr. _As for entertaining ourselves, we manage."

"I would hope so, _Sturmmann."_ Skorzeny settled back in his seat, feeling the wind blow past his angular features, marred by the jagged scar running from his left ear to his chin. He hoped this wouldn't be a waste of time. The SS and the _Wehrmacht _drew closer to Moscow every day, and he didn't want to miss out when the Soviet capital fell. Well, whatever the reason they called him here to the forests of Germany, he'd hear it out, and if he decided it was pointless, he'd argue his case that a man of his talents was needed much more at the front. He'd already built up an impressive service record, and figured he could get away with arguing with his superiors more than the average SS _Obersturmfuhrer._

Five minutes later, they came to a stop in front of a large rock outcropping with clumps of bushes on either side.

"We are here."

Skorzeny cast a doubtful look Brenmunster's way, then turned back to the outcropping. "Are we? I don't see a base. All I see is a bunch of rocks. We are lost, _Sturmmann, _or perhaps you are planning to rob me and leave me stranded in the woods?" He chuckled at his own joke.

Brenmunster glanced at him, his face betraying no emotion. The young enlisted man then looked back at the rocks and honked the horn. Two short honks, one long, one short.

A grinding sound came from the boulder, or what had been disguised as a boulder. Skorzeny leaned forward as it rolled to the right, revealing a dark tunnel.

"Ha!" he barked. "Impressive. Now I am very anxious to see this base." Actually, he was more anxious to see what this base contained. The SS wouldn't stick an underground base in the middle of the _Thuringer Wald _unless they wanted to hide something very, very secret.

The _Kubelwagen _drove forward. It went down a ramp and into a large, spacious chamber with numerous overhead lights. Several vehicles were parked around him. More _Kubelwagens_, armored recon vehicles, even a few squat PzKpfw III Ausf A panzers. Skorzeny shifted in his seat, his curiosity increasing.

The _Kubelwagen _came to a stop. Skorzeny got out and followed Brenmunster to a doorway guarded by two black-uniformed SS men, MP40 submachine guns dangling by their sides. They snapped to attention as Skorzeny stopped in front of them.

"_Obersturmfuhrer _Otto Skorzeny reporting as ordered."

"Papers," demanded the taller of the two guards.

Skorzeny pulled out his identification and his orders. The guard scanned them, looked up at him with an appraising eye, then examined the papers again.

"All is in order." He handed them back to Skorzeny, then checked Brenmunster's papers. All was in order with him as well.

Brenmunster led him through the door of, it turned out, an elevator. He pressed a button. With a jerk, the elevator descended.

"So where are we going, _Sturmmann?"_

"I am not at liberty to say, _Herr Obersturmfuhrer."_

Skorzeny grunted. As though a lowly enlisted man assigned to a secret SS base would tell him anything useful. Brenmunster had resisted all his attempts to pry any information from him on the way here. Why would he relent now?

The elevator halted, causing Skorzeny to sway a bit. Brenmunster opened the door, which revealed a corridor with stone walls and overhead lights. Roughly twenty meters away on the left side, two SS guards stood near a door.

"I take it that's where I am to go?" He pointed at the guards.

"_Jawohl, Mein Herr."_

Skorzeny stepped out of the elevator, then turned back to Brenmunster. "Are you not coming?"

"_Nein."_ Brenmunster shook his head. "I have other duties to perform."

Skorzeny feigned disappointment. "_Ach, _just when I was getting used to the pleasure of your company. Oh well, good day to you, _Sturmmann."_

"And to you, _Herr Obersturmfuhrer." _Brenmunster clicked his boot heels together and snapped his hand up.

Skorzeny returned the salute just as the elevator doors closed. He whirled around and strode toward the two guards. After presenting his papers again, the more muscular guard opened the door the door for him. He walked into a rather Spartan office with a metal desk, filing cabinets, a safe in the corner, and a red and black Nazi banner hanging on the wall opposite him.

The décor quickly became an afterthought when Skorzeny noticed who sat behind the desk. His eyes widened at the thin man with a drawn face, small lips, glasses, and black uniform.

"_Herr Reichsfuhrer." _Skorzeny's right arm shot out in typical Nazi fashion. _"Obersturmfuhrer_ Otto Skorzeny reporting as ordered."

Heinrich Himmler, head of the SS, returned the salute. "Yes, I've been expecting you. Have a seat."

Once Skorzeny took the lone seat in front of the desk, Himmler continued, "I imagine you are wondering why you have been summoned here?"

"I have been wondering that since I woke up this morning, _Herr Reichsfuhrer. _But given the rather isolated location of this base, and the secrecy surrounding it, I can only imagine it is something of great importance."

"Very astute of you, _Herr Obersturmfuhrer._" A thin smile crossed Himmler's lips. "Then again, judging by your file I expected nothing less." He flipped open a manila folder on the desk. "You have served _Das Reich_ with distinction in Austria, Yugoslavia and the Russian Front. Your superiors have lauded you for your bravery, your ingenuity, and your inherent leadership abilities. You are precisely the man we need to lead a very special, and very unique, mission."

Skorzeny drew a slow breath, excitement flowing through him. He slid closer to the edge of his seat. "What sort of mission is it?"

Himmler folded his hands on his desk. "Several months ago, the forces of _Das Reich_ were poised to invade England. Unfortunately, Goring's _Luftwaffe_ was unable to destroy the Royal Air Force and obtain air superiority over the country. As a result, the invasion was called off. But _Der Fuhrer_ has not abandoned his desire to bring that soggy little island under our heel. He has been exploring other options to conquer England, and here at this base, it appears we may have it."

Skorzeny furrowed his brow. "How so?"

Himmler chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Perhaps it would be best if I show you. If I simply told you, you might think me a madman."

Curiosity buzzed through Skorzeny. He got up just a couple moments after Himmler rose to his feet, his heartbeat picking up. A secret base, new talk of invading England, and _Reichsfuhrer _Himmler himself involved in the plan.

_Ah, Otto. Look at the opportunity that's fallen into your lap._

He smiled as he followed Himmler into the hallway. They turned left and went down another corridor, the SS guards in tow.

"I take it your Luger is loaded?" Himmler asked him.

"_Jawohl_." He patted the pistol on his hip. "Always."

"_Gut. _You probably won't need it, but still, it never hurts to be prepared."

Skorzeny mulled over Himmler's words. What could they be doing down here where he might need his pistol to defend himself? It only served to heighten his curiosity and excitement.

They soon arrived in an enormous cavern, the floor smoothed out, likely by engineers. To Skorzeny's right he noticed a large open elevator, big enough to carry a panzer. To his left was a round steel door, like the kind one would expect to see at a bank vault. Four SS guards flanked it.

After presenting their papers, one of the guards picked up a phone attached to the rock wall.

"Guard post here. Prepare for visitors. Codeword, Hyperborea." After several seconds of silence, the guard nodded. _"Jawohl." _He replaced the phone and turned back to Skorzeny, Himmler and their guards. "Stand back, please."

The group took several steps back. The massive steel door swung open. Himmler walked inside, Skorzeny two steps behind him.

The vault was wide with a curved, stone ceiling. He counted roughly two dozen men, some SS, some wearing white lab coats. Scientists, perhaps? Some of those scientists stood behind consoles with a variety of dials and knobs and levers, and large cables running from them to . . .

Skorzeny's face scrunched in puzzlement. Before him stood a wooden structure that resembled a wardrobe. The biggest wardrobe he'd ever seen. One so big you could drive a panzer through it.

"So?" Himmler turned to him, looking bemused. "What do you think?"

Skorzeny shook his head. "With all due respect, _Herr Reichsfuhrer, _I have even more questions than when I arrived. Why would you build such a large wardrobe and hide it in an underground base in the middle of _Thuringer Wald?"_

"Actually, we did not build it. We only expanded the original design. As for why we must keep this hidden, you shall see." Himmler looked to a scientist by one of the consoles. "You there. Fetch us some winter coats."

"_Jawohl, Herr Reichsfuhrer."_ The pudgy, balding scientist hurried off into a small chamber. Less than a minute later he reappeared with four heavy white coats.

Skorzeny held his coat in front of him. Why would they need this? It wasn't that cold down here.

Himmler and the guards put on their coats. Skorzeny sighed, shrugged, and did the same.

"Now, _Herr Obersturmfuhrer, _prepare to be amazed." Himmler turned to a scientist at another console. "Open it."

"_Jawohl." _The scientist pulled down a lever. Within seconds the two large doors of the wardrobe swung open. Skorzeny stared into a maw of darkness.

"Let's go," said Himmler.

The two guards went in first, vanishing into the blackness. Himmler followed. Skorzeny tried to keep pace, but slowed a bit. Tingles of fear went through him, fear of the unknown. Something wasn't right about this. Why would they need winter coats and guards to walk into a wardrobe, and why make one so large?

Curiosity overcame his fear. That and the fact he would never appear to be a coward in front of anyone, especially the leader of the SS.

Holding his breath, he strode into the wardrobe.

Darkness overwhelmed him. He kept walking, listening to the footsteps of Himmler and the two guards ahead of him. Their boots thumped on the wooden floor. Skorzeny locked on the sound, trying to judge the distance from . . .

_Crunch._

He raised an eyebrow. That was not a sound he expected from anyone walking on a wooden floor.

He heard the soft crunch again, and again. What the hell could it be?

Something crunched under his boot. He stopped, furrowed his brow, and bent down. He ran a hand along the floor, feeling something granular and cold.

_Snow?_

Skorzeny looked up. He noticed light ahead. Sunlight? How could that be so far below the surface?

He rose and continued forward, his hand hovering by his Luger.

Pine trees suddenly appeared around him. In fact, an entire snow-covered forest stretched before him. Ten meters away in a little clearing stood a lamppost.

He couldn't keep his jaw from dropping. _"Mein Gott," _he whispered.

"It is rather . . . jarring, isn't it, _Herr Obersturmfuhrer?"_ Himmler clasped his hands behind his back and just looked around the forest, showing not a single sign of shock.

"I don't . . . how is this possible? This can't be _Thuringer Wald._ It is summer. There would be no snow on the ground."

"This is not _Thuringer Wald."_ Himmler turned back to him. "This is not even Germany, or even Earth."

Skorzeny stared at him, slowly blinking his eyes. Not Earth? Then where could they be? He tried to ask the question, but shock froze his vocal cords.

_Get a hold of yourself, Otto. You are SS. Act like it._

He drew a breath and stood ramrod straight, hoping he'd forced all the astonishment off his scarred face. "Where are we, _Herr Reichsfuhrer?"_

"We are in another land. A land called Narnia."

"Narnia? Where is that?"

Himmler smiled briefly. "The answer to that question would possibly confuse you, if you asked one of the scientists back there." He nodded toward the mouth of the wardrobe, if it could even be called that now. "In simplest terms, Narnia seems to reside in another plane of existence, or what the scientists call a parallel world."

"You mean, like another planet?"

Himmler worked his jaw back and forth. "Yes and no. It is not like the planets we know, say Mars or Venus. It exists in another dimension, side-by-side with our world, only we cannot see it. Until now."

Himmler walked ahead, Skorzeny following. They came to a small rise overlooking a snowy valley that stretched to the horizon.

Skorzeny gaped and slowly shook his head. "How . . . how did you find out about this place?"

"It was during our invasion of Poland. An SS squad came across it in the home of a university professor in Wroclaw. They entered the wardrobe thinking there could be Jews hiding in there. Instead they discovered this." Himmler extended his hand toward the snowy horizon.

"So what do we know about this Narnia?"

"Quite a bit. When the SS interrogated the Jew professor who used to own the wardrobe, he refused to cooperate. The stubborn little vermin held out for quite a while. Then our people brought in his family. They shot his wife in the head, and threatened to do the same to his daughters."

Skorzeny grinned. "So I imagine that helped loosen the Jew's tongue."

"You are correct. We learned a great deal about Narnia from him, especially about its inhabitants."

_Inhabitants?_ Now he understood why Himmler asked him if his Luger was loaded. So he could defend himself against whoever lived in Narnia.

"There are people like us here," Himmler continued. "But also all manner of creatures, creatures we had always believed to be made up. Minotaurs, centaurs, gryphons, dwarves. Even animals familiar to us like horses and bears and wolves are not as we know them on our world."

"How so?"

"They can talk."

Skorzeny drew back his head in surprise. Talking animals? Mythical creatures? Had the _Reichsfuhrer _told him this back in his office, he would have thought the man insane. But after going through a wardrobe and setting foot on another world . . . well, how far-fetched could things like centaurs and talking bears be?

"So what are our plans for Narnia? Does _Der Fuhrer _intend to conquer it?"

"Not at the present time. Though I'm sure one day Narnia will be made part of _Das Reich. _For now, _Der Fuhrer _is focused on the conquest of England."

"And what does Narnia have to do with that, if anything?"

A thin smile creased Himmler's narrow face. "Oh, Narnia has much to do with that, _Herr Obersturmfuhrer. _You see, we learned from the Jew professor that his cabinet is not unique. There are others like it throughout the world, and one of them happens to be in England."

Skorzeny's eyes widened. Everything started falling into place. "So instead of crossing The Channel and having to deal with the RAF and the Royal Navy, we can simply send our forces through that other wardrobe, right under the collective noses of the British."

"Exactly," said Himmler. "But before we can dispatch an invasion force, we need the route from our wardrobe to the one in England scouted, and then learn where exactly in England the other wardrobe is. That's where you come in _Obersturmfuhrer _Skorzeny. I want you to assemble a small reconnaissance unit. You can hand-pick your men, and whatever resources you need will be at your disposal."

Skorzeny's chest swelled. "_Danke, Herr Reichsfuhrer. _I consider this mission an honor, and I will succeed."

"I have no doubt you will. That is why I selected you."

"Again, _Danke." _Skorzeny nodded. "And since you said I can have any resource I desire, may I request that I interrogate the Jew professor you took this cabinet from?"

Himmler sighed. "Unfortunately, _Herr Obersturmfuhrer, _that is one request I cannot grant you. The Jew and his daughters were sent to a camp and, well, they are not available to anyone . . . ever."

"Ah, I see." A tinge of disappointment went through him. Sure, that meant three less _Juden _in the world. Certainly not a bad thing. But it would have been nice to pick the professor's brain before he became part of "The Final Solution."

"Do not worry," Himmler said. "The professor did not leave us empty-handed. In the safe in my office I have a map, hand-drawn by the Jew professor. It is rather crude, but it shows the route from this wardrobe to the one in England. The distance is between one hundred-ten to one hundred-thirty kilometers. It will be up to you to determine the best paths to take, any obstacles in the way, and any potential dangers from the Narnians. Once you reach the other wardrobe, you are to enter it and learn layout of the mansion and its grounds on the other side. When you return, we shall assemble our invasion force and send them through."

Skorzeny stared back out at the snow-covered valley. A smile formed. Soon, very soon, England would fall to _Das Reich, _and he would have a hand that conquest.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**_ Otto Skorzeny is an actual historical figure. He is considered one of the greatest commandos in modern warfare, his accomplishments including the rescue of Italian dictator Benito Mussolini, the kidnapping of the son of the Regent of Hungary, and behind-the-lines operations against Allied Forces during the Battle of the Bulge. After the war, he escaped from a prison camp and made for South America, where he befriended Juan and Evita Peron and was part of a secret cabal of ex-Nazis called ODESSA._

_As for the ranks used in this story, Obersturmfuhrer translates to Senior Storm Leader, the SS equivalent of a lieutenant. Sturmmann translates to Storm Trooper and would be the SS equivalent of a corporal. The Kubelwagen was basically the German military's version of the Jeep during World War II. The Wehrmacht was the German Army in World War II. Hyperborea, according to Nazi mysticism, was one of the ancient homes of the Aryans, located in the Arctic._


	2. Chapter 2

Skorzeny stood in the rear of the SdKfz 251 half-track, gazing at the packs and crates and cans that filled the compartment. For probably the twentieth time today he inventoried their supplies. Food, water, fuel, ammunition, grenades, tents, sleeping bags, cameras, snowshoes, extra clothing, portable stoves, binoculars, shovels, rope, toiletries. Had he forgotten anything?

_No. We should have everything we need._ Hell, they had enough supplies to spend a month in Narnia. Not that he expected to be there that long, but he'd been on enough missions to know that it paid to take more supplies than you may need because . . . well, one never knew what could happen. Such was the nature of war.

He leaped down from the SdKfz 251, or "Hanomag" as it was more popularly called. It, and the second Hanomag in Skorzeny's reconnaissance unit, had both been painted white to blend in to the Narnian winter landscape. Skorzeny, himself, wore white winter fatigues, as did the five men under him.

He folded his arms and stared at the white-clad SS men in and around the half-tracks, each one performing final checks of their weapons and gear. He smiled, satisfied that he had chosen his squad well. All five had fought alongside him at one time or another, and all five possessed skills and personalities that made them well-suited for a unique mission like this.

_Sturmscharfuhrer _Dieter Heigl was a burly, gruff NCO who always kept the troops on their toes. A veteran of The Great War, Poland, Yugoslavia and Russia, nothing seemed to faze him. Even when Skorzeny took his squad through the wardrobe yesterday to show them Narnia, Heigl just stared at the snowy landscape with a stoic expression while the others gawked in astonishment.

The lanky, sullen-faced _Obermann _Gunter Thalberg had been with Skorzeny since the Yugoslavia Campaign, and had to be one of the best snipers in the entire _Reich. _Blessed with an incredible eye for detail, Thalberg also proved a talented artist. He would be the one to draw the map from this wardrobe to the one in England.

_Scharfuhrer_ Joachim von Droth had been with Skorzeny in Austria. A stout, dark-haired Prussian with an eternal leer, he was an expert in medieval weapons, to the point he actually carried a two-foot long Knights War Axe. Such expertise might prove valuable in a world where the inhabitants still fought with swords and arrows and armor. Plus, von Droth took great delight in the art of torture, which would come in handy if they needed to get information from any Narnians.

_Mann _Friedrich Egger, a mass of muscles with a crown of blond hair, had grown up on a farm outside Mainz. He had the strength of an ox, and about half the intelligence of the actual animal. But Skorzeny had seen the man in action in Russia, and doubted anyone could be deadlier with an MG 34 machine gun in their hands than Egger.

Lastly, there was _Rottenfuhrer_ Konrad Maier. The lean, round-faced native of Bavaria had to be the most qualified man for this mission. He had been part of the German cross-country ski team in the 1936 Olympics, had trained other SS troopers in winter warfare tactics, and was an expert hunter and tracker.

Skorzeny nodded and smiled. Yes indeed, he had put together the best team possible for this mission.

"_Herr Obersturmfuhrer." _Heigl stomped over to him. "All supplies are loaded, all equipment has been checked. The Hanomags are fully fueled and their engines are in good condition. We are ready to proceed whenever you are."

"_Danke, _Heigl. Have the men assemble by me."

"_Jawohl." _The big NCO shouted over his shoulder. "Get your asses over here! Now! _Schnell! Schnell!"_

The other troopers hurried over and lined up next to Skorzeny. They stood at attention as two men walked over to them. One was Himmler, the other had a fleshy face and a paunch, the sign of a man who spent more time in an office than in the field. _Oberfuhrer_ Kleinz, the base commander.

"_Herr Reichsfuhrer," _Skorzeny said. "All preparations are complete. We are ready to depart."

Himmler nodded. _"Gut." _He then scanned the reconnaissance unit. "You men are about to embark on a mission of vital importance to _Das Reich_. What you six are about to do will help pave the way for the ultimate defeat of England. No longer will that fat drunkard Churchill and the arrogant swine he leads defy might of the German people. Your mission will herald the beginning of the end of the British Empire. _Der Fuhrer _himself as asked me to convey his wishes for a successful mission to each and every one of you."

Skorzeny's eyes widened. Elation took hold of him. So Hitler himself had taken a personal interest in this mission.

_Imagine what this could do for my career if we succeed._

_No, Otto. Not if. _When _we succeed._

"Good luck to you all." Himmler shot out his right hand. "_Heil Hitler!"_

"_Heil Hitler!"_ Skorzeny and his men repeated.

Once dismissed, they hurried to their Hanomags. Skorzeny sat in the passenger seat of the lead one, with Maier driving and Thalberg in the open troop compartment. In the second Hanomag, Egger drove, Heigl sat in the passenger seat, and von Droth was in the back next to the mounting for the MG 34.

The engines of both Hanomags growled to life. Skorzeny's muscles tensed as they drove forward. His eyes fixed on the dark maw of the wardrobe. The most important mission of his military career had begun.

The Hanomag bounced slightly as its front wheels, then its rear tracks, settled on the wardrobe's reinforced wooden floor. Seconds later, sunlight appeared ahead of them. They emerged in the forest, roared past the lamppost and –

"What the hell!"

Mouth agape, Skorzeny stared at the forest around him. He then looked over his shoulder and saw the second Hanomag come through the wardrobe.

"Halt! Halt!" he ordered Maier before getting to his feet and raising his right hand, signaling the other Hanomag to stop.

"I don't understand." Maier looked around with unblinking eyes. "How is this possible?"

Skorzeny didn't answer him. How could he? He didn't know how this was possible.

The snow had vanished. Lush green trees and vegetation now stretched toward the horizon.

"I don't recall anything in our briefing about the seasons in Narnia changing so quickly," said Maier.

"Nor do I." Skorzeny clenched his teeth. Had that damn Jew professor kept this little piece of information to himself? How much else hadn't he revealed to the SS?

Skorzeny hoped the deceitful Jew suffered excruciating pain for days on end before he did the world a favor and died.

He exited the Hanomag just as Heigl ambled up next to him.

"We've been here less than a minute and already we have a useful piece of information," said the big NCO. "Seasons change quickly in Narnia."

"_Ja." _Skorzeny stared down at his thick white parka. "A fat lot of good these fatigues do us now."

"It also presents us with a much bigger problem. With these fatigues, and with the way our Hanomags are painted," Heigl glanced at the gleaming white half-track next to them, "we're going to stick out like a sore thumb in this terrain."

Skorzeny glared at the Hanomag and let out a slow, irritated sigh. Heigl was right. They couldn't go into a springtime forest with winter camouflage.

"All right," he shouted loud enough for everyone to hear him. "Turn these things around and return to base."

"_Mein Herr?" _Maier gave him a perplexed look.

"We need new paint schemes for our half-tracks." Skorzeny plucked at his parka. "And fatigues better suited for this climate." The corners of his mouth twisted as he looked at Maier, their winter warfare expert. Now what use would he be?

_Maier is still a good soldier, and a good tracker. He can still be useful._

Once they came to a wide enough clearing, they turned the Hanomags around and headed back into the wardrobe.

"Skorzeny!" a shocked Himmler greeted them. "What is the meaning of this?"

"My apologies, _Herr Reichsfuhrer." _Skorzeny got out of his Hanomag and informed Himmler about the sudden change of seasons in the Narnia. At first, the head of the SS couldn't believe it, and insisted Skorzeny show him first hand.

"Unbelievable." Himmler shook his head as he gazed out at a forest devoid of snow.

When the two returned to the chamber housing the wardrobe, Himmler said, "This changes nothing. You still have a mission to accomplish, Skorzeny."

"And we will accomplish it, _Herr Reichsfuhrer. _Except now we must make some adjustments. First, we need to change the paint scheme of our Hanomags."

"Of course." Himmler turned to the base commander. "_Herr Oberfuhrer._ Fetch some paint, green and brown."

Kleinz mouth moved soundlessly for a few seconds. Fear blazed in the whites of his eyes. "I . . . I would, _Herr Reichsfuhrer, _but . . . but the only paint we have in our stores is white, since, well, it was winter there in Narnia, and . . . and . . ."

"Then send someone to the nearest town to get some brown and green paint," Skorzeny snapped.

Kleinz stiffened, his expression turning from fear to anger. He fixed a harsh gaze on Skorzeny, who expected to get yelled at for addressing a superior officer in such a manner.

Himmler, however, came to his rescue. "Do as he says, _Herr Oberfuhrer."_

Kleinz snapped to attention. _"Jawohl." _He hurried out of the chamber.

"What about our fatigues?" asked von Droth.

"We get rid of them, of course," Heigl growled. "We sure as hell don't have to worry about freezing to death in Narnia now, do we?"

_"Nein," _Skorzeny said. "Stow our winter fatigues with our other gear. You saw how quickly the seasons changed. For all we know, it may turn back to winter while we're still in Narnia."

Heigl nodded. He and the other SS troopers started stripping off their parkas.

"Good thinking, Skorzeny," Himmler complimented him.

"_Danke." _He shook his head and gave the SS chief a half-smile. "Well this mission is off to a rather auspicious start."

**XXXXX**

It took two hours for two of Kleinz's men to drive to the nearest town, locate the appropriate paint, and bring it back to the base. Skorzeny and his men, now decked out in brown and green patterned forest fatigues, went about painting their Hanomags. There wasn't much finesse to it. Just slap some paint over the white surface as quickly as possible, something Skorzeny had to remind Thalberg of, several times. His artist's sensibilities couldn't accept rushing anything that had to do with painting.

"It's a damn half-track, Thalberg," Skorzeny scolded the sniper/artist. "We're going to drive it around Narnia, not hang it in the Louvre."

As soon as they covered every inch of white on the Hanomags, Himmler ordered them back through the wardrobe.

"But the paint has not dried," Thalberg whispered to Skorzeny.

"To hell with the paint. We're already behind schedule as it is."

They boarded their Hanomags and drove them through the wardrobe. Skorzeny clenched his fist as he saw sunlight ahead of them.

_If it's turned back to winter already I'm going to shoot myself._

Thankfully, the Narnian landscape was the same as when they left it. Skorzeny breathed a sigh of relief and settled back in his seat.

Finally, their mission could begin.

Unfortunately, they didn't make much progress their first day. Barely three hours since returning to Narnia, the sun started to go down. Three times their path had been blocked by thickets of trees, requiring them to reverse direction and find a new route for their Hanomags. The entire time they crawled along at barely 30 kph. By the time they stopped in a little forest clearing to camp for the night, Skorzeny estimated they were six, maybe seven kilometers from their starting point.

_At this rate it will take us a month to reach that other wardrobe._

After supper, Skorzeny set up the sentry rotation, taking the first watch himself. It always helped unit morale, especially a small unit like this, when the officers pulled their own weight. A few times during his shift he heard owls hooting nearby. Could they be among the talking animals the Jew professor had mentioned? Had they seen him and his men? Would they report back to the other Narnian creatures like centaurs and Minotaurs?

_And what if they do? _What good would swords be against elite troops armed with machine guns and grenades?

The night passed uneventfully. Heigl, who had the last shift, roused the men before dawn. They quickly ate breakfast, boarded their half-tracks, and set off.

Fortune favored Skorzeny and his men this day. They emerged from the forest onto a rolling plain with small, grassy hills. Suitable terrain for tracked vehicles.

They made excellent progress that morning. Several times Skorzeny had them stop on hilltops to survey the surrounding area, noting specific geographic landmarks and having Thalberg incorporate them in his map. A few times they noted birds circling in the distance. Ravens, perhaps? Or falcons? Skorzeny couldn't be sure. He also spotted a herd of deer grazing in a distant meadow. Again concern spread through him. Could these be talking animals, or the regular kind? If they saw him, would they report their presence to the powers-that-be in Narnia?

Skorzeny furrowed his brow. Who did run things in this world? The Jew professor mentioned during his interrogation something about a talking lion who possessed great power named Aslan. But did he rule all of Narnia, or was it much like his world, made up of different nations?

He groaned in frustration as the Hanomag rolled down a hill. There was too much about this Narnia that they just did not know. Such a lack of knowledge could prove fatal.

By noon the plains began turning into a combination of fields and woods, with a very large, sparkling blue lake in the distance. They pulled the Hanomags behind a large clump of trees and sat down in the shade for lunch. Maier had just opened his tin of roast beef when he froze, his eyes locked on the ground.

"What's wrong with you, Maier?" Heigl growled as he slapped some pork on a _Hartkek _biscuit.

Maier didn't answer. He crouched, set down his meal tin, and continued staring at the ground.

Skorzeny chewed his _Knackebrot _cracker and roast beef as he watched his winter warfare expert. "Maier?"

"Someone has already been here," Maier stated without looking at him.

Skorzeny and the others set aside their food and gathered around Maier, who pointed at the ground. "Look. Hoofprints."

Dozens of tracks marred the ground around the trees, then continued away from them.

"Definitely horses," Maier added.

"Cavalry?" asked von Droth.

"Perhaps, but . . ." Maier shook his head. "Something's not right."

"What?" demanded Heigl.

"Look at the depth of the prints as they move away from the trees." Maier stuck his fingers into several prints. "A horse without a saddle and pack and rider would not be this deep. But while there are signs of horses, there are no signs of their riders."

Working his jaw back and forth, Skorzeny scanned the ground. Maier was correct. There was not a single human footprint to be seen."

"Perhaps the riders did not dismount," Skorzeny suggested.

"_Nein." _Maier shook his head. "Judging from the positions of many of these prints, and their proximity to each other, it would appear they stopped here for a rest. The riders would have dismounted."

"How many horses do you count?" Skorzeny asked.

Maier scanned the ground. "Seven, perhaps eight. All moving to the northwest."

Skorzeny looked off in that direction and noticed a hill less than a kilometer away.

"Lunch will have to wait. We're going to follow those tracks. I want to see exactly what we've come across. Egger. Stay here and guard the Hanomags."

"_Jawohl," _the big machine gunner replied.

Grabbing their weapons, Skorzeny and the others followed Maier. They hiked toward the hill, then up it. When they reached the top, Skorzeny looked around. To the east was the lake. A meadow filled with colorful flowers lay to the west. Straight ahead in the distance lay several more hills.

On one of those hills, he spotted movement.

Skorzeny lifted the binoculars to his eyes. A staggered line of eight horses clomped up the hill. Big horses. Horses with riders.

Then he leaned forward. Something didn't look right. The riders looked . . .

_Unbelievable. _What he had thought were riders were actual _part _of the horses. But they looked human, only with long, wild hair and pointy ears.

"Centaurs," he whispered.

"Centaurs?" von Droth repeated before lifting his own binoculars to his eyes. Moments later he, too, whispered in astonishment.

"Could they have been spying on us?" wondered Thalberg.

"Maybe, maybe not." Skorzeny lowered his binoculars. "Either way, we're going after them."

"Why?" asked von Droth.

"Because we need more information on Narnia, and those centaurs are going to give it to us, whether they want to or not."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

_**

* * *

**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **_Translation of the ranks used in this chapter. Sturmscharfuhrer means Storm Squad Leader, the SS equivalent of a master sergeant. Scharfuhrer means Squad Leader and is the SS equivalent of staff sergeant. Rottenfuhrer means Section Leader and is the SS equivalent of a sergeant. Obermann means Senior Trooper and is the SS equivalent of a Lance Corporal. Mann means Trooper and is the SS equivalent of a private. Oberfuhrer means Senior Leader and is the SS equivalent of a colonel. NCO is Non-Commissioned Officer, basically, sergeants._


	3. Chapter 3

Gaenrorke stood on the hilltop, his eyes focused on the expanse of swampland bordering The Empress Lake. A slight grimace marred his rugged, bearded face. Centaurs had never been fond of swamps. It was too easy for them to get stuck, or far worse, to sink and never rise again.

Still . . .

"Uncle? Does something trouble you?"

He turned to young centaur to his right, one with smooth, angular features and long dark hair.

"I'm just thinking," he told his niece, Skyla. "Thinking about how a swamp like that would make a good hiding place for our enemies."

"I think I would agree," Skyla nodded. "Only the most loathsome of creatures would live in a swamp. That certainly would include the followers of the White Witch."

Gaenrorke chuckled, as did several of the other centaurs in his group. Skyla's wit never ceased to amuse him. She was so unlike Filadra, his sister and her mother. But that's what he appreciated about Skyla. Much as he loved his sister, Filadra could be too serious for her own good. Sometimes he wondered how his niece had acquired her wit.

"And in order to search for them," said a young centaur with fiery red hair and a short beard, "we must venture into the swamp, with no assurance any of the White Witch's followers are even in there."

Gaenrorke frowned as he turned to Thonmak. "You have been doubtful of this mission ever since we set out from our camp."

"Because the battle has been won. The White Witch is dead, as are most of her lieutenants. Her army is routed, and the rightful kings and queens of Narnia now sit in Cair Paravel. We are at peace now."

"Being at peace does not mean we fall into complacency. When we do that, we risk ignoring potential threats to that peace. Many of the White Witch's army were killed at Beruna, but some managed to slither away."

"Most likely to skulk in whatever hole they could find," countered Thonmak. "I fail to see how they can threaten Narnia now."

"Even as small as their numbers are, they are more than capable of raiding isolated dwellings or small villages. And if unchecked, one of their number could rise as a leader, recruit more creatures to their ranks, and threaten all of Narnia."

"Perhaps. But after their crushing defeat at Beruna, after the death of the White Witch at Aslan's paws, the fight must be gone from them. Wouldn't they much rather hide than risk death?"

"There is cause to be concerned, Thonmak." Skyla turned to him. "My uncle has scanned the night skies closely, read the stars and constellations. They reveal a possible new threat to Narnia. It is likely that threat is the remnants of the White Witch's army. Also, remember what General Oreius told us before we left. Shortly after the coronation, Aslan told High King Peter that he and his siblings, and all of Narnia, would be tested, and soon. A test that we must pass or fail on our own, without help from Aslan, to show how deep our desire is to live in peace and freedom. If you doubt the survivors of the White Witch's army are this new threat, does that mean you believe my uncle is wrong? Or that Aslan himself is wrong?"

Thonmak's eyes widened. "What? No, of course not."

"Then perhaps you should quell any doubts you have and focus on stamping out this potential threat Uncle Gaenrorke and Aslan speak of."

Thonmak bit his lower lip. He groaned and lowered his head. "I will."

A couple centaurs in the back chuckled softly.

A huge smile spread across Gaenrorke's face as he gazed at his niece. Pride surged through him as he patted Skyla's shoulder. She turned to him with a smile of her own that made his heart swell. He did not need the stars to tell him Skyla had a bright future ahead of her. She had given a good account of herself in the battle against the White Witch. Her skills in divination improved each day. Her intelligence and compassion knew no bounds. He could picture her as a great warrior and seer one day, perhaps even a great leader.

_And speaking of being a leader . . ._

"Now that we have sufficiently debated the merits of our mission, it is time we continue."

"Into the swamp?" asked Thonmak.

"Yes . . . unfortunately."

Gaenrorke led the other seven centaurs down the hill and toward the swamp. Occasionally, he glanced over his shoulder at Thonmak. He brooded a bit, no doubt his pride wounded at being defeated in an argument, and by a centaur younger than him. Then again, Thonmak was young too, by centaur standards. Sometimes that youthfulness led to bouts of impatience, hotheadedness, and overconfidence. Though with the right tutelage, he would one day mature into a fine example of centaur –

"Did you hear that?" Skyla halted.

Gaenrorke stopped as well, the other centaurs following suit. "What is it?"

Skyla kept silent, pointing to a clump of bushes thirty paces ahead. "I heard something shuffling in those bushes."

That was another thing his niece had been blessed with, exceptional ears. He followed the direction of Skyla's extended finger and stilled himself. Several moments passed with the only sound around the gentle breeze.

Then a rustling came from the bushes.

Gaenrorke waved his centaurs forward, all of them drawing their swords. When they got within ten paces of bush, Gaenrorke called out, "Show yourself!"

The bushes rustled again. Gaenrorke's hands tightened around the hilt of his broadsword.

A small, furry creature with canine features and a bushy tail darted out from under the bush.

Gaenrorke lowered his sword and groaned.

_Fox._

"I say," the little animal spoke. "Would you mind keeping it down?"

"Fox. What are you doing here? Spying on us?" True Fox and his kind had opposed the White Witch, but in his experience, foxes were sly, untrustworthy, and tended to be out solely for themselves.

"Spying?" Fox retreated a step, surprise in his eyes. "Why no, of course not. What reason would I have for spying on noble centaurs such as yourselves?"

"You're a fox," said Thonmak. "That is reason enough."

Fox sighed and shook his head. "If you must know, I was just about ready to pounce on a very fat, juicy rabbit hidden in those bushes. And I would have had him if not for your bellowing."

Gaenrorke's eyes narrowed. "We have more important matters to attend to than keeping your belly full."

"Obviously, since you scared away my lunch. I figured you centaurs would be more sympathetic to my plight, being you have two bellies to keep full."

"You try my patience, Fox." Gaenrorke stomped forward.

"Uncle, please." Skyla put a hand on his shoulder. "Fox is only following his natural instincts. We, unfortunately, spoiled his meal. Should we not have sympathy for one of Aslan's children?"

"Ah, well put, milady." Fox bowed his hand. "Thank you."

Gaenrorke sighed, the anger uncoiling inside him. He turned his head from his niece to Fox. "Perhaps you can make yourself useful. Have you seen any followers of the White Witch in these parts?"

"Followers of the White Witch? I assumed them all to be dead, or hiding somewhere."

"It is our task to hunt them down in case they wish to threaten Narnia again. Now, have you seen any of them?"

"Alas, no." Fox shook his head. "But I wish you luck in your task. Or perhaps not. I would hope no one ever sees a follower of the White Witch again."

Skyla grinned. Gaenrorke groaned in response. "If you do happen to see anything, report it to us."

"I will. Rest assured, noble centaur, you may count on me."

Again, Gaenrorke groaned. He waved the other centaurs to continue.

"Good luck in your hunt, Fox," Skyla said.

"Thank you, milady." He bowed again. "Thank you. You are most kind."

With that, Fox darted back into the bushes.

Gaenrorke tried to put the annoying little creature out of his mind as they neared the swamp. His muscles tensed, the sword tight in his hand.

"Wait!" Skyla stopped. "I hear something."

"Not Fox again," grumbled Thonmak.

"No. Something . . . something else." Skyla's face twisted in puzzlement. She walked away from the swamp, her gaze aimed at one of the nearby hills.

Gaenrorke followed, his ears perked up. He heard it, too. Some sort of steady grinding sound. He searched his memory to see if he had ever heard anything like it before.

He hadn't.

"Follow me, and keep your swords ready."

The centaurs moved toward the hill. The sound grew louder and louder. Could it be a monster? A dragon, perhaps? But it had been many, many years since anyone had seen a dragon in Narnia.

By the mane, what could it be?

Gaenrorke froze for a moment when he saw something roll over the hill.

"What is that thing?" Thonmak wondered aloud as a second . . . thing appeared.

"A sleigh, perhaps?" Skyla speculated. "Or some sort of chariot?"

"How can it be?" said Thonmak. "Where are the horses to pull it?"

"I don't know." Gaenrorke shook his head. The closer the things got, he knew they were some means of transportation, for men sat in them. Men like King Peter and King Edmund. But he knew of no other men in Narnia save their kings. Telmarines? They were said to have strange ways about them. But as with dragons, no one had seen Telmarines in a long time.

The – chariots? – came within sixty paces of them. Fifty. Forty.

"Halt!" Gaenrorke boomed, raising his hand.

The chariots ground to a halt.

"Declare yourselves!"

The two men sitting in the front of the chariot turned to one another and spoke. Gaenrorke had trouble making out what they said. Their language sounded like nothing spoken in Narnia. It was sharp and harsh.

"I said declare yourselves!" Gaenrorke raised his sword higher.

One of the men in the chariot raised his hand to the other. He opened a door and stepped out.

Gaenrorke raised an eyebrow as he studied the man. He was tall with an ugly scar marring the left side of his face. The sign of a warrior. Yet he did not look like any warrior he'd ever seen. The man wore no armor or chainmail. He did have on a helmet, though one that looked more like a pail for fetching water than for wearing in battle. And he carried no weapon! Or perhaps he did. The man clutched some sort of tube with a stick connected underneath. What kind of weapon could that be, if it indeed was one?

The man got within fifteen paces before he stopped and smiled. Not a very sincere smile at that. More like a smile he'd expect from Fox.

"_Guten Tag,"_ said the man.

A puzzled look came over Gaenrorke's face. "What mean you?"

"Ah. English. Good, I can speak that."

"Who are you?" Thonmak demanded.

The insincere smile grew wider. "_Obersturmfuhrer _Otto Skorzeny." The man bowed, though kept his eyes on the centaurs. "Humble servant of the German Reich."

"Who is this German Reich you speak of?" asked Skyla.

"A great nation far away from here. Or maybe not very far, depending on your point of view. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I am Gaenrorke, and this is my niece, Skyla."

"And you are centaurs, I imagine?"

"Of course." An edge crept into Gaenrorke's tone.

"And where do you come from?"

"We come from Narnia," said Thonmak.

"I assumed that. But where in Narnia? A large city? A small village? Who is your leader?"

"You ask many questions, _Oob . . . Oob . . . Oob-strum-fur Skor-ee-zee." _Gaenrorke scowled, knowing he butchered that strange name.

"_Obersturmfuhrer _Skorzeny. And yes, I do have many questions, for I need to know all I can about Narnia."

"For what purpose?" Thonmak trotted closer. "Are you friend or foe of the kings and queens of Narnia?"

"Thonmak," Gaenrorke snapped.

"Ah." The predatory smile on Skorzeny grew wider. "So you are ruled by kings and queens. Hmph! Where I come from they usually just have one of each. Interesting."

"We shall answer no more of your questions," Gaenrorke said sternly. "In fact, you will surrender and tell us your intentions here in Narnia."

Skorzeny looked unfazed. In fact, the man chuckled. Surprise and rage collided within Gaenrorke. Who was this fool to laugh at such a command by a centaur?

"_Nein, nein, nein, _my horsey friend."

Shocked and furious gasps rose up from the centaurs, Gaenrorke included. Did his ears deceive him? Had Skorzeny referred to them as mere horses? Did this man have no concern for his physical well-being?

Skorzeny continued. "As I said, I am in need of information about Narnia, which means that _you _will surrender yourselves to _us_, and answer all our questions . . . if you value your lives."

"You dare threaten us!" Thonmak bared his teeth. "You believe you can make us submit with mere words?"

"Oh no. I have more than words to make you surrender."

Skorzeny pointed his skinny tube at the ground. Thunder and flame spewed from the hole in the end. Gaenrorke jumped back in surprise. Little fountains of dirt sprouted a couple paces in front of him.

What evil magic was this?

"Now," the fake warmness faded from Skorzeny's voice. "Drop your weapons, line up over there, and answer every question we have about Narnia! You saw what this machine gun can do to the ground. Imagine what it can do to your flesh!"

"You will not take us without a fight!" Thonmak charged forward, sword raised.

More cracks of thunder split the air. Not from Skorzeny's "machine gun," but from a big man in one of the chariots who held a much longer tubular weapon.

Skyla gasped. Thonmak twisted, splotches of red covering his torso. He fell to the ground and laid on his side, unmoving.

Two more centaurs charged forward, swords raised. More cracks of thunder erupted from the "machine guns." A sound like angry hornets buzzed all around him. Blood burst from the torsos and hides of the two centaurs. Both dropped to the ground dead.

"Take cover!" Gaenrorke hollered. "Take cover!"

He galloped toward a clump of trees nearby, Skyla by his side. More crackles of miniature thunder filled the air, merging into a sustained roar.

One centaur stumbled and fell. So did another. Something bit into his rear hide. Pain burned through the length of his body. Gaenrorke kept going, the trees looking so far away.

Suddenly he was behind them, as was Skyla and the surviving centaur, Balyamr. The angry hornets continued to cut through the air, smacking the bark of the trees.

"What are those weapons, Uncle?" Skyla asked, breathing heavily. "What they did to Thonmak and the others . . ."

"I don't know." More hornets slapped against the trees. "I just know those men are a threat to Narnia, perhaps the threat I foresaw. The kings and queens must be made aware."

He gazed at his niece, his insides twisting. "Skyla, you must flee."

"What. No, Uncle, I will not abandon you in battle."

"You must. You must warn the kings and queens. We shall hold off these men and give you time to escape."

"But you'll . . . you'll . . ." Tears welled in Skyla's eyes.

"Skyla, you must! Narnia is depending on you! Now go, and keep going. Don't look back, no matter what you hear."

Skyla clenched her jaw, a tear trickling down her cheek. She nodded. "I love you, Uncle."

"I love you, too. Now when Balyamr and I jump out from behind this tree, you run. Understood?"

She nodded.

Gaenrorke looked to the other Balyamr. "Ready?"

The other centaur nodded.

Gaenrorke tensed, praying to Aslan to keep him and his comrade alive long enough to allow Skyla to get away.

Suddenly, the sounds of thunder and hornets stopped.

"Balyamr, now! Skyla, go!"

With a choked sob, Skyla galloped away. Gaenrorke and Balyamr jumped out from behind the trees, unleashing a battle cry and raising their swords.

Two sticks with a cylinder on the end bounced across the ground toward them.

_What are –_

Thunder enveloped him. Chunks of dirt and grass burst in front of him. Dozens of tiny white hot shards tore into Gaenrorke's flesh. He cried out and collapsed to the ground. Pain lashed his entire body. A deep hum filled his ears. His vision darkened for a moment.

He clenched his teeth, trying to fight off the fiery knives slicing through his bones and flesh. He looked over at Balyamr. He laid on his side, covered in blood.

_Skyla._ He groaned as he turned his head – by the mane, even that simple act sent searing pain through his body.

His heart leapt as he watched his niece galloping toward the hills at full speed. A smile formed on his lips. She had to be at least two hundred paces away by now. Hopefully far enough away to not be harmed by those "machine guns." Hopefully Skorzeny and his minions would keep all their attention focused on him while . . .

A muffled crack made it through the hum in his ears. His body went cold when he saw the side of Skyla's head burst apart. A cloud of red formed in the air over her. She stopped and keeled over on her side.

_Skyla? Get up, Skyla. Please get up._

She continued to lay on the ground, unmoving.

Gaenrorke's body shook. The pain was forgotten. A dark hole opened under his heart and swallowed it. His eyes remained fixed on his niece's body.

His dead niece.

No. She couldn't be dead. She had too much life ahead of her. She couldn't . . .

"NOOOO!" Tears spilled from Gaenrorke's eyes. "Skyla. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

**XXXXX**

"Dammit!" Thalberg lowered his modified Mauser rifle with the sniper scope. He stared in the direction of the dead female centaur and shook his head. "I pulled my shot to the left."

"What difference does it make?" asked Maier. "You killed the damn horse thing, didn't you?"

Thalberg just sneered at Maier.

Skorzeny couldn't help but smile. Even when it came to killing, Thalberg was a perfectionist.

"_Herr Obersturmfuhrer,"_ Heigl called out. "One of the things is still alive."

Skorzeny turned and spotted the centaur leader, Gaenrorke, lying on his side, looking off in the distance and crying.

_Oh, right. Didn't he call the female centaur his niece?_

He waved the other men forward, keeping his MP40 trained on the centaur. The burning smell of cordite lingered in the air.

He and his men stood in a semi-circle around Gaenrorke, their weapons pointed at him. The centaur turned to them, tear tracks staining his cheeks.

"You filthy butchers!" he hollered. "You monsters! She was just a young one!"

"And now she's dead," Skorzeny shouted over the ringing in his ears, and probably the ringing in the centaur's ears as well. "And you will join her if you do not tell us everything we want to know about Narnia."

"I'll tell you nothing! I curse you and I curse your families for all eternity!"

Skorzeny snorted. "Let's just see how brave you are. Von Droth, do your worst."

"With pleasure." A grin formed on the Prussian's lips as he drew his Knights War Axe and slowly strode toward Gaenrorke, emitting a low, evil laugh.

**XXXXX**

Fox shuddered with every scream that came from the centaur. Never had he believed a centaur could scream like that. But as he peered out from under his bush and saw what that man did with his axe . . .

He clamped down on his jaws to prevent a whimper from escaping his mouth.

He wanted to look away. By the mane, this was horrible! But he found himself frozen, afraid to make the slightest move for fear those men might hear him.

_Just . . . just stay here. Don't let them find you._

Another agonized scream came from the centaur. Fox trembled. His imagination turned on him. He pictured those men stomping over to his bush, pulling him out, and doing . . . those things to him.

He fought the urge to vomit.

Again the centaur screamed. After dealing with the White Witch and her followers, Fox thought he had seen everything evil was capable of.

Looking at what those men did to that centaur, he knew he was wrong.

He gulped as he recalled that terrifying day when the White Witch had turned him to stone with her staff. The fear he felt at that moment came roaring back. Would he remain stone forever? Would the White Witch just shatter him for fun?

Fox looked at the men again, recalled the weapons they used. The tubes that spat thunder and fire and ripped apart flesh. The little sticks that erupted like miniature volcanoes.

Could these men be worse than the White Witch?

_I can't . . . I can't live under evil again. Not so soon after it's been vanquished._

The Kings and queens had to be warned.

But if he left the bush, the men might see him and chop him to pieces.

The centaur cried out again.

Fox closed his eyes. _You have to go._

_I don't want to die._

Another tortured cry came from the centaur.

_They're all busy with the centaur. Go now._

Fox drew a quiet breath and forced his right rear paw to move. He took another step back. Another. Soon he was out from under the bush. He looked over to the lake, and to the small slope that led to the bank.

Tensing, he darted toward it, half-expecting one of the men to shout, or use that thunder stick that killed the female centaur.

He raced down the slope, reached the bank, and ran alongside the lake, ran as fast as he could. Not daring to look back, and trying to block out the centaur's cries.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	4. Chapter 4

"_Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."_

High King Peter Pevensie – the Magnificent – of Narnia sighed as the old Shakespeare line from _Henry the Fourth_ went through his mind. The crown in question, though, did not lie on his head, but rather in his hands. The tall, lanky, brown-haired young man just stared at it as he stood in front of the mirror in his chambers at Cair Paravel. He didn't like feeling this way. He didn't like the doubt that crept through him. Why should he doubt himself? He was High King of Narnia. He had led an army into battle against the White Witch, and won! Aslan himself had declared him and his brother and sisters the rightful kings and queens of Narnia. What was there to doubt about himself?

Yet he did. After all, it hadn't been that long ago when he was just an ordinary school boy. Now he led an entire magical country. Over and over, he kept asking himself the same question.

_Do I have what it takes to be a king?_

Not just _a _king, but a good king.

_The answer has to be yes. After all, I led Narnia in a war that we won._

But the war was over. So now what? What was the best way to make sure Narnia prospered? What to do about those Narnians not as well off as others? Were there any disputes among the population that needed settling? How could he and his siblings help maintain this new-found peace they fought so hard to achieve?

That last one brought him back to Aslan's warning just before he left.

"_There is a darkness gathering on the horizon, a darkness that will test you, your siblings, all the people of Narnia. It is a test you must all face on your own. A test that will determine how great your desire is for peace and freedom."_

Peter bit his lower lip. What exactly had Aslan been talking about? Another war? Hadn't they already suffered enough during the last one? So many good creatures had died in order to defeat the White Witch. Edmund had almost died, would have died had Lucy not given him a drop of her cordial.

He knew one thing. He could not sit on his throne and simply worry about Aslan's warning. He needed to act. Isn't that what a good king does when his kingdom is threatened?

He dispatched soldiers to all corners of Narnia in search of the remnants of the White Witch's army. Perhaps that's what Aslan meant by the gathering darkness. Perhaps they would regroup and attack Narnia again.

But a nervous tingle developed in the back of his head. Somehow, he had a feeling the threat Aslan spoke of had nothing to do with the White Witch's shattered army.

Sighing again, Peter placed the crown on his head and strode out of his spacious chambers. He didn't have time to stand in front of the mirror and worry. Susan – Queen Susan the Gentle – had suggested they spend the next few days touring some of the outlying villages and dwellings, making their presence known to their subjects and hearing whatever concerns they have. She and Edmund and Lucy were probably waiting for him in the stables.

"I was wondering when you'd show up." Susan greeted him with a wry grin as she stroked the neck of her horse.

"I'm not that late, am I?"

"Dad always said late is late," said Lucy – Queen Lucy the Valiant, "whether it's one hour or one second."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle as he stared at his little sister.

"All our provisions are loaded, Your Majesty," announced a stocky centaur with wild dark hair and a gray hide. "We can leave whenever you are ready."

"I'm ready now, Stonethunder," Peter answered the captain in charge of his personal guard. "Let's go."

Peter and his siblings rode out of the stables, their six centaur guards around them. He drew a breath of the sweet-smelling air and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun enveloping his body.

"What a beautiful day," Lucy said in her bubbly voice. "This is going to be so much fun. I can't wait to see who we're going to meet. I hoped they like us."

"You helped free our land from the White Witch, My Queen," said Stonethunder. "Whoever we meet will not simply like you, they will love you."

Lucy's smile widened. She practically bounced in her saddle. Just seeing his little sister's excitement made Peter forget about his earlier worries. He, too, became excited at the prospect meeting new creatures, perhaps making new friends. Speaking of friends, they must stop by the Beavers' home. After all those two had done for him and his family –

"Halt!" Stonethunder's hand snapped up.

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"In the sky." Stonethunder pointed.

Peter followed the centaur's finger and saw a large brown shape flying over the trees in the distance.

"That looks like a gryphon," stated Edmund – King Edmund the Just.

Seconds later, Edmund had his statement confirmed. Peter easily recognized the lion's body with the eagle's head and wings as it descended, getting closer to their party. Peter's brow furrowed when he noticed the gryphon clutched something in its right front talons.

"What's it carrying?" Susan wondered aloud.

Edmund leaned forward in his mount. "I think it's . . . some sort of animal."

"A tribute to your majesties, perhaps?" asked one centaur guard.

"We'll find out soon enough." Peter urged his mount forward as the gryphon pulled up, snapped its wings and landed.

"Swiftwind," he recognized the creature. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Your Majesties." Swiftwind, the leader of the gryphons who fought the White Witch at Beruna, bowed before them. "I am sorry to disturb you, but what this one has to say is of great importance."

"Who?"

Peter watched Swiftwind lower his right front talons and release the creature in its grasp.

"Fox!" Lucy gasped.

Peter was the first off his mount, followed by Susan, Edmund and Lucy. The four hurried over to Fox, who laid on his side, panting.

"He looks exhausted," Susan noted as she knelt beside the animal.

"That he is, My Queen," responded Swiftwind. "I found him well beyond those trees, collapsed. I offered to take him to a place where he could rest and have food and water, but he insisted on seeing you."

"Oh, you poor thing." Lucy, her eyes glistening with tears, took the flask from her belt and uncorked it. She placed her hand under Fox's head, lifted it gently and poured some water into his mouth. Fox hacked a couple times, then licked his lips as though trying to snatch every single droplet of water he could.

"Th-Thank you. Your . . . Your Majesties. I'm so glad. I . . . I've been running . . . nearly two days. Barely stopped . . . hardly drank or ate anything."

A distraught look came over Lucy's face. She poured more water into Fox's mouth.

"A thousand thank yous, My Queen."

"Why did you almost run yourself to death, Fox?" Lucy stroked the animal's furry hide. "What's wrong?"

"Horrible. Just horrible."

"What's horrible?" asked Susan.

"What happened to them. That's why . . . why I couldn't stop running. You have to know. They . . . they killed them. All of them."

"Who killed who?" Peter leaned closer to Fox. "Where did this happen?"

Fox took a couple deep, raspy breaths. "The eastern side of the Empress Lake. A party of centaurs came across them."

"What party of centaurs?" Stonethunder demanded. "Who were they?"

Fox paused for a few moments. "Ahh . . . Guh . . . Gaenrorke. And he had a niece. Skyla."

Lucy gasped, covering her mouth with a hand. Susan put an arm around her. Edmund lowered his head.

A sick feeling burned in Peter's stomach. He had met Gaenrorke and Skyla in the Narnian encampment before the Battle of Beruna, and had spoken with them several times. Lucy struck up a fast friendship with Skyla. Could they really be dead?

"Fox." Peter's tone became more insistent. "You have to tell me what happened."

Fox took another greedy breath before speaking. "I spoke with . . . with the centaurs briefly. Went back to hunting a rabbit, they went on their way. Then . . . then they came." He closed his eyes and shuddered.

"Who came?" Peter asked.

"M-Men. Sons of Adam, like you and King Edmund. No, not like you. Because they . . ." A whimper escaped Fox's throat.

"Men?" Stonethunder tilted his head. "Do you mean Telmarines?"

"No. I don't think so. The weapons they had . . . never seen anything like them."

"What kind of weapons?" asked Edmund.

"They were . . . tubes. Tubes that spat fire and tore holes into the centaurs."

Edmund's face scrunched as he looked around at his siblings. "Sounds like he's talking about a gun."

"How can that be?" Susan turned to him. "There are no guns in Narnia."

"Please, My Queen," Fox pleaded. "You must believe me. I may have a dubious reputation, but I assure you, I am not lying."

Susan flashed him a smile. "I'm sorry." She patted his side. "I didn't mean to suggest you were lying."

"These men," Peter began. "What did they look like?"

"They were . . . strange. They wore regular clothes. No armor. And their weapons. Never have I seen centaurs defeated so easily."

The stomping of hoofs caught Peter's attention. He glanced to his centaur guards. All their faces were twisted in anger.

"It is impossible to defeat a centaur easily." Stonethunder scowled at Fox. "How dare you create such a lie, and how dare you spin it to our kings and queens?"

"Easy, Stonethunder." Peter raised a calming hand.

Stonethunder snorted and backed away. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Peter turned back to Fox. "Is there anything else you can tell us about these men? Did they say who they were? Where they were from?"

"One did. He called himself, uh, Otto. Otto Skar . . . Skrow . . . Skar-zon-ee."

Peter's jaw clenched. He had no idea about that second name Fox struggled with, but the first one, clearly that was . . .

_No. Impossible._

"Fox." He bent down, his face mere inches from the animal. "This is very important. This Otto, did he say where he came from?"

"Yes, I think so. He mentioned something about a _Jeer . . . Jeer-mine . . . Jeer-mine Reeck."_

"You mean the German Reich?" Edmund's eyes widened.

"Yes," Fox answered. "Yes, that's correct, Your Majesty."

"Oh no." Lucy covered her mouth with both hands, while a look of disbelief fell over Susan's face.

Dread took hold of Peter. He stared at Fox in silence, his mind propelling him back to the world he and his siblings left behind. He pictured himself in the cellar, or huddled with hundreds of others in the underground, hearing the drone of numerous planes overhead, the pounding of anti-aircraft guns, the quakes from bombs striking London, Lucy crying, Edmund sitting against a wall, clutching his knees to his chest and trying not to look frightened.

"Germans in Narnia? How is that possible?" Susan gave voice to the question in his head.

"Maybe they came across a wardrobe as well." Peter noted how flat his voice sounded. "Maybe the one we went through isn't the only one in the world."

"But how many of them are there?" Edmund turned to him. "Are they actually invading Narnia?"

"Fox." Peter looked back down at the animal. "How many did you see?"

"Six."

"Most likely a scouting party," Stonethunder offered. "I suspect there is a much larger force back at this . . . German Reich waiting to act on the information provided to them by these scouts."

Peter let out a slow breath. He thought back to some of the newsreels he saw at the cinema, or the articles he'd read in _The Times, _of the Germans advancing through Europe and North Africa like an unstoppable juggernaut. He thought of Poland, Norway and France, all crushed so easily by the German military. He thought of Dunkirk, and how the British Army had been forced to board anything that would float to evacuate The Continent.

His chest tightened. Was this the test Aslan had talked about? Did they have to fight Nazis in Narnia? Could they do it? Could an army with swords and arrows and armor defeat one with rifles and machine guns and hand grenades?

_What choice do we have?_ He could not just sit back and allow the Germans to conquer Narnia.

"Right then." Peter got to his feet. "Susan, you'll ride with me and Stonethunder's troop. We're going to the Empress Lake and see if we can find those Germans. Swiftwind. Assemble the other Gryphons. Have them search from the sky."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Swiftwind bowed.

"I want to come, too," Edmund pleaded.

"No, Edmund. I want you and Lucy to remain at Cair Paravel and help General Oreius organize our defenses here."

Edmund tensed, appearing like he wanted to argue. Instead, he exhaled and said, "All right."

A jolt of surprise went through Peter. It wasn't like Edmund to agree so quickly to any order he gave.

_Maybe he's finally growing up._

"Lucy, you should take Fox back to the castle," Susan told her sister. "Make sure he gets food and more water, and a place to rest."

"Thank you, You Majesty," Fox said. "You are most kind."

As Lucy scooped up Fox in her arms, Peter and Susan remounted their horses and rode off with the centaurs. He mulled over Stonethunder's words, about how these Germans might be scouts for a larger force.

Peter tightened his grip on the reigns. They had to find these Germans, learn where they came from, and prevent any more of them from entering Narnia. If they couldn't . . .

He shuddered at the picture conjured by his mind's eye, one of a blood red flag emblazoned with a swastika hanging from the battlements of Cair Paravel.

**XXXX**

Even after three days, Skorzeny still stewed over the fact they couldn't pry a single bit of information from that damned freak of nature Gaenrorke. He still couldn't believe the centaur did not crack given all the cutting and slicing and chopping von Droth had done. Did all centaurs have a constitution similar to Gaenrorke's, rendering torture useless?

As a result, they still had very little information about Narnia. Luckily, they had encountered no other threats or surprises since their brief, one-sided skirmish with the centaurs. Though Skorzeny didn't expect their luck to continue. Luck had its limits, especially in wartime.

The sun started to set as the Hanomags rolled down a forest path. They soon ascended a small rise that led to a clearing overlooking a valley of trees and shrubbery.

Skorzeny called a halt. "This looks like a good place to camp for the night."

While the others unloaded their gear, he walked to the edge of the overlook and pulled out a pair of binoculars from a black leather case. A grumbling came from his stomach. Lord, he was hungry, and looking forward to supper, even it was field rations. But first things first. He scanned the valley below. No sign of any centaurs, or anything else for that matter. Hopefully it would stay that way for the rest of the night. Tomorrow, judging by the Jew's crudely-drawn map, they should reach the area . . . where . . . the . . .

_Was ist das?_

He gripped the binoculars tighter and leaned forward. Could he be mistaken? He adjusted the magnification and . . .

His chest swelled. Poking over a ridge was the unmistakable shape of a lamppost.

"All of you!" he hollered. "Get over here! _Schnell!"_

The other SS troopers hurried over, Heigl reaching him first. _"_What is it, _Herr Obersturmfuhrer?"_

Skorzeny didn't reply. Instead he handed the big _Sturmscharfuhrer _his binoculars and pointed. "Look over there. Tell me what you see."

Heigl put the binoculars up to his eyes. Several seconds passed before his mouth opened in astonishment. "A lamppost?" He lowered the binoculars and whipped his head toward Skorzeny. _"The _lamppost?"

"What else could it be?" A smile grew on Skorzeny's face. He then turned to the others. "Men. Forget about supper. Tonight, we're going to pay a little visit to England."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	5. Chapter 5

_Bloody children. No better than wild animals, they are._

Mrs. Macready scowled at the smashed stained glass window. What had those miscreants been doing playing cricket so close to the house? And where were they now? Hiding, no doubt. She'd scoured the house for the past hour, but could find neither hide nor hair of those Pevensie children. When she brought this to Professor Kirke's attention, he just chuckled and said, "I'd wager they're closer than you think."

Hands on her hips, she continued to scowl at the shattered window. She had a good idea what the Professor meant by that cryptic response.

_I pray he's correct. _Perhaps that annoying quartet would stay in there until the war was over, then they could ship the lot of them back to London. Why Professor Kirke had decided to take in evacuees in the first place still baffled her. She could do without the Pevensies clomping through the halls or their constant bickering or the youngest one, Lucy, wanting to know all about her.

_As if it's any of her business. _As if she had any desire to be friends with a seven-year-old girl, or however old she was.

Snorting, Mrs. Macready turned on her heel and walked down the large, oak-paneled hallway, decorated with paintings, vases and potted plants. She still needed to put fresh towels in the bathrooms and do some dusting before getting supper ready.

_Four less settings tonight, apparently. _She briefly smiled as she ascended the stairs. When she reached the landing she turned right. Just before she reached the corner that led to the hallway containing the linen closet, as well as the room with that wardrobe, she noticed a painting of the Kirke family from early in the last century was crooked. Huffing, she reached up and straightened it.

_Bloody troublesome urchins. _One of them, perhaps all of them, had to be responsible for this. How many times had she told them not to touch anything in this house? What was so hard to understand about those instructions? She had spoken them in the King's English, not in Chinese.

_Upbringing, no doubt. The parents probably let them run about the house, never gave them a proper spanking or told them to respect other people's prop-_

The sound of footsteps carried from around the corner. Mrs. Macready turned in the direction of the noise and scowled. It had to be those children, back from . . . that place. Well whatever fun they had there would soon be forgotten after she gave them a good, long talking to.

She strode down the hall and drew a breath, ready to lash out at those –

"_Das Gang ist leer."_

Mrs. Macready froze. Fear and shock gripped her. Had she just imagined that?

"_Ruhig. Es konnte Leute hier geben."_

Her heart pounded. There was no mistaking that language.

German.

_How . . . How is that possible?_

Her entire body trembling, she carefully peered around the corner. She bit down a gasp of terror.

Three men stood in the hallway, each one wearing green and black splotched uniforms and carrying machine guns. A tall man then appeared, walking out of the room that contained . . .

_The wardrobe. Oh God, they must have come through the wardrobe._

"_Suchen Sie das Haus."_ The tall man waved his right arm.

Mrs. Macready pressed her lips together, not daring to breathe, not wanting the Germans to discover her. Her heart slammed against her chest. Was it hammering loud enough for them to hear?

The Germans split up, two proceeding toward the other end of the hallway, the other two coming straight at her.

_Oh God._ Mrs. Macready turned and retreated toward the stairs on the balls of her feet, trying to move quickly and quietly. Sweat leaked from her pores, even though her body had turned ice cold. Any second she expected to hear gunfire and feel bullets tear into her back.

She hurried down the stairs, reaching the landing just as she heard the Germans' footfalls above her grow louder. She darted into a hallway on the second floor . . .

And ran headlong into Professor Kirke.

"Mrs. Macready." The white-haired man gave her a bewildered look. "I say, you look like you've seen a ghost. Could it be my Great-Uncle -"

"Shh!" She pressed her index finger against her lips.

Kirke blinked in surprise. "Well that's rather rude. What's gotten -"

"Professor!" She cut him off with a loud whisper. "There are Germans in the house."

Kirke stood statue still. His ever-present smile vanished. "You're sure?"

"Yes! They could only have gotten in through the wardrobe. But how?"

A sullen look came over Kirke's face. His gaze fell to the floor. "Franciszek."

"You mean Professor Franciszek Adamczyk?"

"Yes." Kirke nodded. "I've been afraid of this happening since Poland fell. I prayed he had hidden his wardrobe from the Germans, but . . ."

He reached out and took her hand. "Come, my dear. We need to get to my office."

They started for landing when they heard booted feet coming down the stairs.

"They're coming!" Mrs. Macready's quiet voice cracked. "What do we do now, Professor?"

He flashed her a smile. "No need to worry. There's always another way. Come on."

Kirke led her down the hall and turned left at the intersection. They stopped at the second door on their left. Kirke opened it, pulled her into a drawing room, and closed the door.

"Why did you come in here?" Mrs. Macready spun around, panic consuming her. "The Germans are sure to search in here."

"Let them." Kirke walked over to a tapestry of a pride of lions hanging on the wall.

"Let them? Wha . . . What? Professor, they'll shoot us."

"They can't shoot what they can't find." He pushed aside the tapestry, revealing a wall safe. Kirke turned the dial three times and pulled on the handle. Instead of the safe opening, a full-sized door hidden in the wall opened.

Mrs. Macready gaped at the sight. "How did you know . . ."

"I planned for this eventuality long ago. Mind you, I thought it would be Narnians of evil intent, and not Nazis, coming through that wardrobe. Now hurry along."

She dashed over to the Professor and went through the door. A stone staircase led down to what looked like a tunnel. Her eyes widened in surprise. A secret passage? How far did it extend?

The door shut behind her. The world plunged into total darkness. Panic seized her.

"Professor!"

A second later, she heard the click of a torch. A beam of white light washed over her.

"I made sure to keep this hanging from the wall in here." Kirke wiggled the torch next to her. "Always be prepared, I say. Now let's get a move on. Here, take my hand and follow me."

He led her down the stone steps and into the tunnel. A couple times Mrs. Macready glanced over her shoulder, fearing the Germans may find this secret passage.

They continued on. She squinted and gazed as far ahead as the light from the torch allowed, trying to see if they were nearing the end of the tunnel. Only more darkness lay beyond them.

"How long does this tunnel go on for?" she asked.

"Just a bit more," Kirke answered. "Actually, this tunnel used to be much shorter."

Mrs. Macready's eyes widened. "You mean this has always been here?"

"Oh yes. Don't forget, this house is well over a century old. The owners back then probably wanted a place to hide in the event France or Spain invaded, a very real worry back then."

"And now it's the Germans we have to worry about," Mrs. Macready sighed.

"Quite, my dear. Once I took ownership of the estate, I added a few more secret passages and lengthened the existing ones. Ah! Here we are."

Kirke pointed his torch straight up. The beam illuminated a ladder that led to a hatch.

"All right, up you go." Kirke waved her to the ladder. "Just give the hatch a push and you can get out."

Mrs. Macready hesitated, just staring at the hatch. "Get out where?"

"Far enough away from the house where the Germans can't see us. Now move along."

Clenching her jaw, she stiffened her shoulders, walked forward and set a foot on the bottom rung. After another moment's hesitation, she climbed the ladder to the top and pushed up on the hatch.

Daylight filled her eyes. She turned away and blinked, taking a few seconds to adjust to it. When she did, she pulled herself out of the hole and onto the grass. Swinging her head left to right, she noticed she was in the forest that bordered Professor Kirke's estate. She also saw that the hatch had been disguised as a fake tree trunk.

The Professor scrambled out of the hole and righted the fake tree trunk, covering up the exit.

"Where to now?" she asked.

"The road. Hopefully we can get a lift into town."

"We had better. It's a good four kilometers to Headington."

They'd barely gone fifty meters through the forest when the gray sky opened up. Mrs. Macready groaned as the rain soaked her dress, damp fabric clinging to her skin. With the gray clouds blocking out the sun, the air took on a decided chill. She shivered, rubbing her arms in a futile attempt to keep warm.

The Professor, meanwhile, didn't seem bothered by the rain. He just pressed on with a purposeful gait.

"We're going to catch our death of cold if this rain doesn't let up," Mrs. Macready grumbled.

"Possibly. But a cold is much easier to get over than being riddled by German bullets."

She scowled as another shiver went through her, but said nothing. How could she argue with logic like that?

About fifteen minutes later, they came to the road leading to Headington. The rain hadn't let up one bit. Would it be like this all the way to Headington?

_Surely someone will come along to give us a ride._

She looked up and down the road, but saw no vehicles. Disappointment flared within her, but not too great. Someone would drive by eventually.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Still no sign of a vehicle. The only consolation was the rain had turned into a light drizzle. Still she was soaked to the bone, and the cool breeze only chilled her further. Plus her feet and ankles screamed in pain. The shoes she wore were not meant for hiking. How would she ever make to Headington?

She whipped her head back and forth. _Please. Please somebody . . ._

A black shape appeared in the distance. Mrs. Macready stopped, her eyes fixed on it. It soon took form. Squat, with a stubby bonnet.

"Professor. Professor!" A smile lit her face. "There's a car coming!"

Kirke turned and sidled up next to her. He leaned forward, squinted and tilted his head. "Hmph! A Wolseley Ten. That can only be one person." He moved a couple steps into the roadway and waved. The car slowed and pulled to a halt next to him. The left rear window lowered, and a man with a narrow, distinguished face looked out at them.

"Digory, old boy. Mrs. Macready. What on Earth are you two doing walking about in this weather?"

"Ah, my dear Lord Dugan." Kirke beamed at his neighbor, though that could be a relative term as Lord Dugan's estate was two-and-a-half kilometers east of theirs. "You are a life saver on this day."

A wry grin traced Lord Dugan's lips. "Had enough of exercising in the rain, have you? And subjecting your poor housekeeper to it?"

Kirke chuckled. "Actually, um . . . my car broke down. I wonder if we could trouble you for a lift into town."

Mrs. Macready gave the Professor a puzzled look. Why would he lie like that?

"No trouble at all. Hop in."

Lord Dugan's chauffer got out of the car. Before he could open the door for them, Mrs. Macready whispered into Kirke's ear. "Professor. How come you didn't tell him about the Germans?"

"You think Lord Dugan would believe me about a wardrobe to another world?"

"But the Germans. For all we know, there could be hundreds of them back at the house."

"Don't worry, my dear." Kirke patted her hand. "I know someone we can tell the entire story to."

Mrs. Macready saw out the corner of her eye the chauffer holding open the passenger side door, patiently waiting for them. She looked back at the Professor, who nodded for her to get in. With a muted groan, she obeyed, while Kirke climbed in the back with Lord Dugan.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go back to your house and change?" Dugan asked. "You're positively soaked."

The breath caught in Mrs. Macready's throat. Right now the last place she wanted to be was at the Kirke Estate.

"No, that's quite all right." Kirke gave Lord Dugan a warm smile. "It's only water. It'll dry eventually. Besides, I have an appointment in Headington I really can't afford to be late for."

Lord Dugan cocked his head to one side, as if mulling over Kirke's response. After a few minutes he simply shrugged. "If you say so."

Mrs. Macready glanced at Lord Dugan with a cocked eyebrow. She figured he chalked up Kirke's response to his well-known eccentric personality.

"Any particular destination?" Lord Dugan asked.

"The Lion's Mane Pub, if you don't mind."

Again, Mrs. Macready's face scrunched in confusion. A pub? Germans were coming through the wardrobe, invading England, and the Professor wanted to go to a pub? Why not go to the police? Or better yet, the military? The army and the RAF both had bases outside Oxford, not terribly far from here.

_I'm sure the Professor knows what he's doing. _She repeated this over and over in her mind until she finally managed to half-convince herself.

She sat in silence as they drove. The Professor and Lord Dugan, however, conversed all the way to Headington. They spoke of only one thing. The war. What else would one talk about these days?

"How much longer do you think our lads can hold out in Tobruk . . . Do you think the Germans will take Moscow . . . The Japanese have me worried, especially now that they've taken over part of Indochina . . . When do you think The Yanks will start fighting in this war?"

Mrs. Macready stared down at her folded hands, mentally adding her own question.

_What if the Germans conquer England?_

The rain had stopped completely by the time they reached the Lion's Mane Pub. They thanked Lord Dugan and his chauffer profusely for the ride and bid them farewell. Mrs. Macready followed the Professor to the front door, taking in the building's oak siding, pointed roof, and wood carving of a roaring lion hanging above the entrance.

The smell of ale and pipe and cigar smoke filled her nostrils the moment she stepped foot inside. She grimaced as they walked toward the bar.

"Afternoon, Professor Kirke. Mrs. Macready." Louis, the portly, ruddy-faced barkeep, greeted them. "Blimey, you looked soaked. What, you two walk all the way from Risinghurst?"

"Just about," said Kirke. "Car trouble. Lucky for us, Lord Dugan drove past and gave us a ride."

"Good man, Dugan." Louis nodded. "So, what'll it be?"

"Nothing at the moment. I wonder if I could trouble you to use your phone. I have an important call I need to make. It's, um, of a personal nature."

"Of course. You can use the phone in my office." Louis waved his hand in that direction. "I'll bring you some towels, too, so you can both dry off."

"Very good of you, Louis. Thank you."

Kirke walked around the bar and into Louis' office, Mrs. Macready right with him. She closed the door behind them and looked around, wincing at the mess. Books and papers cluttered the desk, crates lay stacked around the walls, the lone rubbish bin overflowed, and the only décor was photos of a younger Louis from his rugby days. And Lord, could this place use a proper dusting.

Professor Kirke picked up the receiver and dialed. Several seconds passed before he said, "Afternoon. Office for the Commitment to National Duty, please."

Mrs. Macready's brow furrowed. _Office for the Commitment to National Duty?_ What sort of government outfit was that? And why would the Professor call it to report Nazis in England?

Roughly a minute passed before the Professor spoke again. "Hello, there. I was wondering if you could help me. I'm looking for a former student of mine."

Mrs. Macready's jaw dropped. Just what sort of game was he playing at? "Pro-Professor? What this all about? Tell them about -"

"Tut-tut, Mrs. Macready." He waved her to be silent.

She obeyed, but fixed him with a fiery glare.

"Ah, Graham," Kirke said about a minute later. "I say, I'm having a rather serious fashion problem and desperately need your help . . . Yes, I can meet you at our usual place . . . Splendid. Good day to you."

Professor Kirke replaced the receiver and smiled.

"That's it?" Mrs. Macready blurted. "What was all that nonsense?"

"Code talk, Mrs. Macready. I certainly can't say Germans are invading England through a magical wardrobe over the telephone, now can I? You never know who might be listening. But don't worry. The chap I talked to will be able to help. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm supposed to meet him at a park not too far from here. Best you stay here. Dry off and try to relax."

"How can I relax when there are Germans roaming about the house?"

"Don't worry, Mrs. Macready." He gently grasped her shoulders. "We'll deal with them."

They left the office to find Louis standing nearby with a couple towels in his hands. She and the Professor ran one over themselves, not that it did much to dry their clothes.

After Kirke downed a brandy, he exited the pub, leaving her to stand at the bar, arms folded, praying whoever he talked to could stop the Nazis from using the wardrobe to invade England.

"Care for a brandy yourself, Mrs. Macready?"

She turned to the smiling barkeep and sighed. "Make that two brandies."

**XXXXX**

_How? Why?_

Professor Kirke kept asking himself those questions ever since he took a seat at the bench in the small park less than a kilometer from the pub. Why would Aslan allow people as evil as the Nazis to enter Narnia, use it as a bridge to invade England?

_Aslan works in mysterious ways._

He bit his lip, thinking of the Pevensie children. He hadn't seen nor heard them for the past few hours. He had a feeling they might be in Narnia now, on some sort of adventure, just like the ones he had in his younger days. Those the four siblings probably never imagined they would have to fight Nazis like their father was doing.

_Please, God, keep them safe._

A black, long-bodied car pulled up to the curb a couple meters from him. A lean man with an oval-shaped face and a mustache got out the back, carrying a rolled up newspaper under his arm, and walked over to the bench where Kirke sat. He said nothing as he sat next to him and opened the newspaper. Several seconds passed before the newcomer spoke without looking in his direction.

"Good to see you again, Digory," said Stewart Graham Menzies. "Wish it were under better circumstances, though."

"So do I, old friend." He gave a feeble smile to Menzies. His mind briefly carried him back over thirty years to Eton College, where Kirke had been a teaching assistant and Menzies a student in his final year. Given the man's drive and family background, even back then he knew Menzies was destined for great things. His friend didn't disappoint, as he now headed MI-6, the British Secret Intelligence Service.

Menzies shook his head. "I've always been afraid this would happen, ever since that day you invited me to your family's estate and I wound up going through that bloody wardrobe. As though The Empire doesn't have enough worries, now what? We have Minotaurs and goblins and dragons running about the English countryside?"

"I'm afraid it's worse than that, Stewart. The Germans found Professor Adamczyk's wardrobe in Poland. They've already sent some soldiers through it, and they came out my wardrobe. The Nazis are here in England."

Now Menzies did turn to face him. His right cheek twitched as he took a very slow breath. Moments later, he lifted his eyes toward the gray sky. "God help us."

Professor Kirke nodded. "God help us, indeed."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**_ Stewart Menzies was the real-life head of MI-6 during World War II and did graduate from Eton College in 1909. As for the Britishisms used in this chapter, "torch" is what the British call a flashlight, and "bonnet" is British for the hood of a car._


	6. Chapter 6

_Where the hell are they?_

Skorzeny stood in the bedroom, his eyes focused on the picture frame sitting on the nightstand between the twin beds. It showed four children; a tall, fair haired teenage boy, another, shorter boy with dark hair, a teenage girl with long dark hair and full lips, and a little girl with short dark hair who couldn't have been more than seven or eight. Brothers and sisters, he assumed. But where were they? Where were their parents? He and his men had searched the house from top to bottom and could not find anyone. They did determine that, in addition to the children, two other people lived here, a man and a woman. Not married, as their clothing and toiletries had been found in separate rooms. Master and servant, perhaps? Skorzeny also discovered some pictures of a man in a British Army uniform. The father of the children, he assumed, most likely off fighting in this war. Could this be the home of a relation? Or could the children be evacuees from some city in range of _Luftwaffe _bombers?

He shook his head. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was they could not find hide nor hair of these little British brats or their guardians. Could they be out for a stroll in the woods? Maybe they drove to some nearby town. The garage only had one car, and given the size of this house, the man who owned it could definitely afford more than one vehicle.

Concern built up inside Skorzeny as he walked out of the room. He wanted to leave here before the occupants came home, otherwise he'd have no choice but to kill them. Not that he had any qualms about killing British, even children. But if he had to kill them and hide the bodies, someone would miss them. The police would be called in, and attention would be drawn to this house, attention they couldn't afford.

_We need to find out where we are and get out._

After their initial search of the house, he had gone to the roof and taken pictures of the surrounding area. There hadn't been much to photograph. Lots of woods and fields, and a roadway nearby. No distinct landmarks, no cities or towns in the distance. Hell, they could be anywhere in England.

He headed downstairs into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. A bottle of milk caught his eye. After days of drinking warm water and putrid coffee, he couldn't resist. He snatched the bottle and took a long swig, closing his eyes and moaning in delight at the cool, fresh taste. Just as he screwed the cap back on, Maier walked in.

"_Herr Obersturmfuhrer." _The Bavarian held up a torn envelope. "I found this is a trash bin in the study. We know where we are now."

Maier handed Skorzeny the envelope. He held it in front of him and noted the name printed in the center.

_Prof. Digory Kirke_.

He committed the name to memory. Perhaps the intelligence types back in Germany had more information on this man.

Next, and most importantly, he noticed this Digory Kirke's city of residence.

_Risinghurst, Oxfordshire, England._

"Risinghurst," Skorzeny muttered the name to himself. He stepped over to a small table, set down the envelope, and opened his map case. He withdrew a map of England and spread it out on the table. His gaze fell to London, then moved to the left. He spotted Oxfordshire, and seconds later, found the town of Risinghurst.

"Right there." He poked the dot on the map with his finger, a grin forming on his scarred face.

Maier leaned in, nodding in satisfaction. "We're not very far London, are we? Fifty, perhaps sixty miles."

"_Ja. _How fortuitous." Skorzeny examined the map more closely. "The Oxford to London Road is not far from here. That gives us a straight shot into London."

"The only problem is we'll have to make the trip on foot. There's no way we can drive any vehicles through the wardrobe here."

"True, but Oxford is not far from here. We can surely lay our hands on some transport there." Skorzeny tilted his head as he noticed some other symbols around Oxford. "Hm. It looks as though there's an RAF bomber base not far from here, along with a British Army supply base. We'll have to deal with those first, and secure Oxford itself, before proceeding to London."

He straightened up, his smile growing larger. Imagine the sort of chaos a few thousand SS stormtroopers could create if let loose in the British capital. They could seal off the entire city, hunt down and kill every general, admiral, politician and member of the royal family. Especially Churchill. Skorzeny chuckled at the thought of Britain's fat swine of a prime minister hanging by his neck from a lamppost.

_Heh! The damn thing would probably collapse from all that weight._

Skorzeny folded up the map and stuck it back in its case. "We're finished here. Let's gather the others and return to the wardrobe."

"_Jawohl."_

The two exited the kitchen and soon found Heigl, von Droth and Thalberg. They headed for the room containing the wardrobe and stepped inside it. Von Droth, the last man in, shut the door. The five pushed aside heavy fur coats as they walked deeper into the magical wardrobe. Soon Skorzeny noticed sunlight pouring through the opening. He blinked a couple times as he stepped onto Narnian soil. Parked in front of him were their two Hanomags, with Egger, left behind to guard the half-tracks, manning the MG34 in the lead one.

"You're already back?" Egger's face scrunched in confusion.

"What do you mean already?" Heigl responded. "We must have spent at least two hours in that house."

Egger looked even more confused. "Two hours? You haven't been gone for more than minute."

All five SS men stopped and stared at Egger. A scowl formed on Heigl's face. "Are you making a joke, Egger?"

"_Nein, nein, Herr Sturmscharfuhrer." _Egger shook his head emphatically. "I swear you only just went into that cave."

Heigl, looking even more annoyed, opened his mouth. Skorzeny raised a hand to cut him off. "Let's not be harsh with the boy. Remember what happened when we began this mission? The seasons changed from winter to spring within day. Time, apparently, doesn't work the same in this world as it does in ours."

"But how is that possible?" Thalberg wondered aloud.

Skorzeny shrugged. "No idea. Science was not one of my strong suits back at school."

Heigl grunted. "When we're dealing with wardrobes that lead to other worlds and centaurs, I doubt science has any place here."

Skorzeny stared at him for a few moments, then nodded. The Great War veteran had a good point.

"I'm sure there are people smarter than us back in Germany who can figure that out. Meanwhile, we've done our job. Let's get back to base and report our findings."

The men climbed into the Hanomags. Skorzeny's vehicle took the lead, with von Droth driving and Egger manning the machine gun in back. Both von Droth and Skorzeny regularly looked down at Thalberg's hand-made map, laid out between them, making sure they were going the right way.

Less than a half-hour later, the Hanomags cleared the woods and rolled through fields and hills of brilliant green grass dotted in some areas by colorful flowers. Skorzeny stared at the scenery, though his thoughts were on other matters, like the best way to invade England. Would a full-scale invasion even be possible? Trucks and panzers and artillery and aircraft could not be taken through the wardrobe in England. Could an invasion succeed without that kind of heavy fire support?

_Then we don't treat this like a regular invasion. _All they had to do was get perhaps a regiment or two into London. The British would have no choice but to send every soldier available to defend the capital.

_And then we can bog them down in urban warfare._ Perhaps while London was in chaos, _Das Reich_ could finally launch Operation: Sea Lion. Come across the English Channel while the British Army was busy fighting in London and –

Von Droth rolled past a hill, turned right . . . and stopped. Skorzeny's eyes widened at the sight before him.

A mass of creatures loitered around the base of the hill. Two, maybe three hundred. The lessons he had on mythology from his school days surged to the forefront of his mind as he identified the monsters. Minotaurs, goblins, Cyclops, dwarves, werewolves and ogres. He even spotted normal-looking animals like wolves, ravens and spiders, though these spiders looked about as big as a car.

Three creatures marched toward them, a wolf, a Minotaur carrying a large battle axe, and a skinny creature with pale green skin, pointy ears and sharp teeth, wearing chain mail and carrying a sword.

A goblin.

"Sons of Adam!" it hollered. "Sons of Adam! Enemies of the True Queen of Narnia!"

Shouts of disapproval rose from the other creatures, along with a clarion call of, "Kill them!" "Avenge our fallen queen!"

_Queen? _Skorzeny's brow furrowed. Hadn't that centaur said Narnia was ruled by _queens?_

_Is there some sort of civil war going on?_

He noticed von Droth reach down for his MP40.

"_Nein!" _Skorzeny clasped the trooper's hand.

Von Droth stared at him in wide eyed surprise. _"Mein Herr?"_

"Hold your fire!" He looked over his shoulder at the second Hanomag. "Hold your fire!"

"But Sir, look at them all." Egger nodded to the monsters.

"I know. We're outnumbered. Even with our weapons we couldn't hold them off for long. And for all we know, some of those monsters might be able to chase down our Hanomags." A thin smile creased his lips. "This may actually be an opportunity for us." _Or our deaths, _he didn't add.

The goblin and its two friends halted about five meters from the Hanomags. "Surrender yourselves," demanded the ugly creature, "or die!"

Skorzeny got out of the Hanomag, the smile on his face growing wider. He removed his Luger and his knife, placed them on the passenger seat, and took a few steps toward the goblin, arms raised.

"I'm not armed, but I am not surrendering."

"Then you are a fool," said the goblin.

"Perhaps." Skorzeny shrugged. "But I think we should talk first, clear up any misunderstandings."

"There are no misunderstandings, filthy Son of Adam. Your kings and queens are responsible for the fall of the True Queen of Narnia. They will pay for that, and you will also pay."

Skorzeny just kept smiling. Just like he thought. Narnia had two factions, one ruled by the kings and queens, which the centaurs were loyal to, and one ruled by this True Queen of Narnia, who apparently had been defeated, and probably slain.

_Well, since I've already made myself an enemy of one faction . . ._

"It might interest you to know that I do not serve these kings and queens you speak of. In fact, they would not look too kindly on me and my men, since we killed some of their subjects. A group of centaurs."

"You lie!" the goblin snapped.

"Wait." The wolf spoke. Skorzeny had to stop himself from doing a double-take at the sight. Yes, he'd been briefed about talking animals before he entered Narnia, but to actually see it first hand was simply mind-boggling.

The wolf continued, "I am catching the scent of centaur blood, coming from that one." It raised a paw at von Droth.

Skorzeny looked over his shoulder. "Show him your axe."

Von Droth hesitated for a moment, then obeyed, withdrawing his Knight's Battle Axe. The black-furred wolf strode over to the Hanomag and lifted its head. "Drop the axe."

Von Droth's gaze shifted to Skorzeny. He nodded, and von Droth let the axe fall to the grass beside the Hanomag. The wolf lowered its head and took a long sniff.

"Yes. Centaur blood. A lot of it."

"I made sure it took a long time to die." Von Droth grinned.

The wolf looked up at him. Even though the animal couldn't make facial gestures like humans, Skorzeny swore the animal looked impressed.

The goblin turned to the other creatures and waved his hand. They all lowered their weapons and relaxed.

_Well that's a good sign._

"Who are you?" demanded the goblin.

"_Obersturmfuhrer _Otto Skorzeny of the German Reich."

The goblin tilted its head. "What is this _Jimmin Reek?"_

"A nation, far, far away from this one. Now, perhaps you can tell me who you are?"

"I am Draut, Chief Lieutenant of the army of the True Queen of Narnia. And these are my aides. Shrath," it pointed to the wolf, "and Wogharm," it pointed to the Minotaur.

"Greetings." Skorzeny nodded to him, slowly lowering his hands as he did. "Tell me, what has become of your queen?"

Draut sneered and growled. "Dead. Killed by that the jealous fiend Aslan. It was the damned lion who brought about our defeat, placed the false kings and queens on the thrones at Cair Paravel. Now look at us. The once mighty army of the True Queen of Narnia reduced to this. Hiding from the creatures who serve the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve who wish to slay all of us."

"And tell me. Who are these false kings and queens?"

"They are all young, barely weaned off their mother's milk."

Skorzeny cranked an eyebrow. The kings and queens the centaurs served were children? He thought back to the photo he found back at the house.

_Is it possible? Could this be the reason we couldn't find them back there?_

He described the four children he'd seen in the photograph.

"Yes! Yes!" Draut practically jumped. "You have described them perfectly!"

Skorzeny merely nodded, trying to hide his astonishment. How could four children rule all of Narnia?

_Then again, Joan of Arc was just a mere girl when she led an army to victory over the English._

He stepped closer to the goblin. That's when he noticed the necklace it wore. The thing was made of eyeballs.

_Von Droth might have a new friend here._ "It may interest you to know that these false kings and queens originally come from a country called Great Britain, which is currently at war with my country. Perhaps it would be in our best interests if we joined forces against a common foe."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	7. Chapter 7

Professor Kirke stood behind the bonnet of the lorry, Menzies by his side, taking in the activity around his estate. Several vehicles were parked in the driveway and on the lawn. Dozens of men in brown uniforms and those steel helmets that always reminded him of soup bowls loitered about, weapons in hand, just in case. Most were regular army from the supply base outside Oxford. The others, men around Kirke's age and older, came from the ranks of the Home Guard, volunteers unable to serve in the military because of age or ailment, but who would be called upon to fight in the event of a German invasion.

_And it appears they may have their chance._

Kirke frowned at the thought as he stared at his house. Had the Germans gone back into the wardrobe? Could they still be inside? Hiding? Hoping to avoid the army patrols? Or maybe they left the house. Menzies had sent patrols into the woods. So far no one had reported anything. That left him a bit disappointed. He would have liked the army to capture one of those Germans, learn their plans. Perhaps find out if they had indeed come into possession of Professor Adamczyk's wardrobe, and what became of his friend.

He closed his eyes, an ache forming in his chest. The Nazis made no secret of their hatred of Jews. He tried to have faith that Adamczyk and his family were in good health, but . . .

Kirke heard footfalls approaching. He opened his eyes as a short, paunchy officer walked toward them, with two soldiers carrying Lee-Enfield rifles in tow.

"Sir!" The officer threw Menzies a salute.

"Report, Captain."

"We've searched the entire house. No sign of Jerry."

Kirke and Menzies looked to one another. The head of MI-6 then turned back to the Captain. "Very well. Get some of your men loaded into lorries and start patrolling the roads. For all we know, these saboteurs could be making their way to Oxford or London."

"Yes, Sir." The Captain saluted again and headed off.

"It's more likely those Germans have gone back to Narnia," Kirke said once the Captain was out of earshot.

"I agree. But we certainly can't tell them." Menzies nodded to the soldiers around the Kirke Estate. "Not yet, anyway."

"And when would be a good time to tell them? When an entire German division is pouring out of the wardrobe?"

Menzies grimaced. "You know as well as I do the fewer people who know about the wardrobe, the better. For now it's better if we just stick with the story that German saboteurs have been reported in this area, without getting into the more magical aspects of how they came to be here."

Kirke slowly bobbed his head from side-to-side. "Mm, I suppose."

"Still, whether they arrived here through a magical wardrobe or by some other means, we have, or had, German soldiers on British soil, and we can be quite certain they were up to no good. But don't worry. We're getting prepared. The Prime Minister has ordered all military bases to the highest possible alert. All constabularies and Home Guard units across the country are to be on the lookout for any suspicious activity."

"I think any suspicious activity on the part of the Germans is going on far away from here, if you know what I mean."

"I do. But have no fear. I'm on top of that matter." He leaned closer to Kirke and lowered his voice. "The only way we're going to find out what Jerry is up to is by sending some of our lads through the wardrobe and hope they can track them down in Narnia."

"And who around here do you suppose is up for that?" Kirke looked around at the soldiers and Home Guard members on his property.

"Oh, no one here. The soldiers here are from a supply base. Most of them either lift crates or do paperwork. And the Home Guard . . . well, they're certainly not cut out to operate in Narnia."

"Is anyone truly cut out to operate in Narnia? I mean, besides us?"

Menzies chuckled. "Digory, old boy, our days of strapping on chainmail and swinging swords around are long since over."

"True, unfortunately." Kirke sneered briefly.

"But, I have selected a group of men specially trained for missions that are, shall we say, beyond the norm."

"Well a mission to Narnia certainly qualifies as beyond the norm."

Menzies gave him a humorous smile.

A bit later Menzies ordered the soldiers and Home Guard volunteers to dig in, and apologized to Kirke for having to ruin his lawn.

"No need to apologize, my good fellow. All in the name one's patriotic duty."

The soldiers attacked the ground with their shovels, creating several foxholes around the Kirke Estate. They all gave Menzies baffled looks when he ordered them to point their rifles and machine guns _toward_ the house.

"But if Jerry does double back, wouldn't he be coming from the woods?" asked one sergeant major.

"Or they might have dug a secret tunnel leading to the house that we don't know about. We should be prepared, just in case."

Like any good soldier, the sergeant major obeyed with question. Without a vocal question anyway, thought Kirke.

The sun began to set when he and Menzies ate some kippers, bread and biscuits from ration tins the soldiers brought with them. Kirke was just about to bite down on his last biscuit when a lorry packed with soldiers drove up to them. His brow furrowed when a tall, lean man with a mustache exited from the passenger's side.

_Why does he look familiar to me?_

Kirke also took note of the weapon the man had slung over his shoulder. An honest-to-goodness Tommy Gun, like the kind he'd seen in those American gangster films.

The man stepped up to Menzies and saluted. "Lieutenant Niven reporting as ordered, Sir."

Menzies returned the salute. "Good to see you, Lieutenant."

_Niven! _Kirke's jaw dropped. He took a step toward him. "I say, David Niven? _The _David Niven?"

Niven gave him a warm smile. "It's Lieutenant Niven now, Sir. The war has sort of put my film career on hold. I'm sorry, you are?"

"Oh, this is Professor Digory Kirke," Menzies said. "He's . . . a special advisor to MI-6 for this situation."

"Pleasure, Professor." Niven stuck out his hand.

"The pleasure's mine. I thoroughly enjoyed you in _Wuthering Heights. _Excellent performance as Edgar Linton."

"Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that."

Niven introduced him to the other men in his unit. First up was a short, stony-faced sergeant major named Pike. Next he met a gangly redhead with a boyish face and a Lee-Enfield fitted with a scope. Sergeant Ladamire, the sniper. After him came a stocky young man with a Bren light machine gun named Corporal Rowling. He was followed by a lean man with a long face. Corporal Taylor, the medic. Next to him stood a tall young man with an intense air about him. Sergeant Davis, whom Niven said was a survival expert.

The last member of Niven's band made Kirke raise an eyebrow. The lean fellow with an oval-shaped face was dressed in the same brown fatigues as the others and also carried a Tommy Gun. But he didn't possess the same demeanor as the other soldiers. His eyes darted about, he constantly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and his shoulders rose and fell with quick breaths. He struck Kirke as anxious, or maybe excited.

The fellow's eyes finally fixed on him. "Lieutenant Commander Ian Fleming." He stuck out his hand. "Royal Navy. Pleasure to meet you."

"Professor Digory Kirke. The pleasure's mine." He shook Fleming's hand, then turned to Menzies. "Royal navy, Stewart? Bit far from the ocean, aren't we?"

"I felt Commander Fleming possesses some . . . unique attributes that may be useful for this mission."

"And I thank you again for including me, Sir." Fleming's smile grew wider.

Out the corner of his eye, Kirke noticed Davis and Ladamire scowl, while Taylor tried to give a discreet roll of the eyes.

"If I may, Sir," Niven took a couple steps toward Menzies. "What is the exact nature of this mission? Your orders were rather vague. Plus you wanted us fully kitted up, like we were going on a raid or scouting mission behind enemy lines instead of simply searching for possible saboteurs around Oxford."

"Right. I'm afraid the whole saboteurs' story is a bit of a ruse, mainly for their sake." Menzies nodded to the soldiers and Home Guard volunteers. "The truth . . . well, the truth is much more dire."

Niven's brow furrowed. The other men exchanged curious looks. Fleming's eyes grew wider.

The actor-turned-soldier tilted his head. "Sir?"

Menzies emitted a brief sigh. "It would be easier to show you. Let's retire inside, so you can learn what this is really about."

Niven gave the head of MI-6 a questioning look. A few seconds passed before he nodded. "Yes, Sir." He then turned to his men. "C'mon, lads."

The six soldiers and one naval commander strode toward the house.

"Blimey, look at this place." Rowling slowly rotated his head left to right. "It's like a castle. Always wondered what it would be like to live in a castle."

"It'd be cold and drafty," snapped Pike. "Why do you think so many of our ancestors died before they were thirty? They were always catching pneumonia and keeling over."

Menzies started toward the house when Kirke put a hand on his shoulder. "Stewart?"

"Yes?"

"Those soldiers." He nodded toward Niven and his group. "Are you sure they're up for this?"

Menzies gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, old boy. Lieutenant Niven and his lads aren't just soldiers. They're British Commandos. Best men the army has to offer."

That revelation boosted Kirke's confidence in Niven's group. It sounded like they were all highly trained. Just the sort of warriors needed for a place like Narnia.

But that still didn't alleviate his concerns about . . .

"And this Fleming chap? What's his story?"

"Commander Fleming works in the Office of Naval Intelligence. Planning."

"Planning? That doesn't sound like the sort of job that lends itself to many opportunities for combat."

"Perhaps not. But what he lacks in that department, he makes up for with a very keen mind. He also has quite an imagination."

"Hm!" Kirke stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked toward the house. "Then maybe he is right for this mission. Going to a place like Narnia, it does help if one is already blessed with imagination."

**XXXXX**

Peter thanked God he told Lucy to stay behind at Cair Paravel. The last thing he wanted was for his baby sister to be exposed to this.

He just stared at the centaur bodies before him. They'd become bloated and emitted a sickening stale odor. Flies buzzed around them. All of the bodies had numerous bloody holes in them. Bullet wounds, Peter assumed.

Then there was Gaenrorke's body. At least, he assumed it must be Gaenrorke's body. So much of it had been . . .

Peter clenched his teeth, fighting back the bile rising from his stomach. It wouldn't do for a king to vomit in front of his men. He looked around at his centaur bodyguards. They needed him to be strong. All of Narnia needed him to be strong.

He prayed he possessed that sort of strength.

"Peter."

He turned to find Susan approaching him. The sun glinted off something in her palm.

"Look what I found." She held out her hand.

Peter's lips tightened when he looked at the small, coppery objects. "Bullet casings."

Susan nodded. "They're all over the place. This definitely proves Fox was telling the truth." Her gaze drifted past him, to what remained of Gaenrorke. She swallowed and shuddered. "How could they?" she uttered in quiet yet furious tone. "What they did to . . . how?"

"They're Nazis, Susan. They've done this sort of thing all over Europe."

"And now they're doing it here. We barely got done fighting the White Witch, and now this?" Susan bit her lower lip. "We can't let them bring their evil here, Peter. We can't."

"We won't." He put a hand on his sister's shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. "We'll stop them."

"Swords and shields against tanks and machine guns? How can we do that?"

Peter's face tightened. That was the question that plagued him. The French and British armies had fought the Germans with modern weapons, and were routed. What could Narnians do with weapons from the Middle Ages?

"We'll find a way," he told Susan, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.

"Your Majesties." Stonethunder galloped over to them. "There's something you should see."

Peter nodded, and he and Susan followed the centaur a half-mile or so away from the bodies. Stonethunder guided them to a patch of dirt and pointed. "In all my years, I've never seen tracks like that."

Peter and Susan bent down. A straight, zigzag pattern had been embedded in the dirt.

"They definitely look like tank tracks," Peter declared, remembering when he'd been little and his father showed him around the army base where he'd been assigned. He'd been in awe of the big tanks lined up in neat rows.

Now the thought of tanks terrified him, especially since they were being driven around Narnia by Germans.

Taking a deep breath, Peter rose and turned to Stonethunder. "I want a call to arms sent out to all Narnians. Tell them a new enemy has invaded our country." A stab of pain went through his stomach. Just when all of Narnia's creatures had begun adjusting to a world no longer ruled by the White Witch, a world finally at peace, he needed them to fight again.

"Yes, Your Majesty." From the look on Stonethunder's face, Peter swore the centaur could read his depressing thoughts.

"Come on. We'd best get back to Cair Paravel."

An hour into their ride, one of the centaurs spotted movement from above. Peter's insides twisted in fear. For a moment, he imagined a Stuka bomber diving on them, its horn shrieking like a Banshee to scare the living hell out of everyone on the ground.

When he looked up, he saw no Stuka. He relaxed when he realized it was, in fact, a gryphon. Specifically, Swiftwind.

"Your Majesties." The creature landed in front of him and Susan and bowed.

"Any news, Swiftwind?"

"Yes." The gryphon lowered its eagle head and closed its eyes halfway, looking almost apologetic. "I have spotted this new enemy. They are at least a day-and-a-half's journey on foot from here, headed to the east."

"How many of them?" asked Susan. "What were they driving?"

"They were in the strange chariots Fox spoke of, the ones that need no beasts to pull them. I counted six men in them, but that's not all."

"What else did you see?" asked Peter.

Swiftwind hesitated. "There were others in the chariots. A goblin, two wolves and two ravens. Followers of the White Witch. Your Majesties, it would seem this new enemy has joined forces with our old enemies."

Susan's eyes widened. She placed a hand over her heart. Peter gripped the reigns of his horse tighter, trying to keep from shaking.

**XXXXX**

A huge smile lit up Skorzeny's face as the lamppost came into view, and the cave just beyond it. When the Hanomag rolled to a stop, he rose from his seat and stretched out his arms. "Ah, we have finally arrived."

"Arrived?" Draut gave him an annoyed look. "Arrived where? This is just a cave. You said you would bring us to your German Reich."

"And I shall keep my word, my goblin friend. Through that cave lies my nation. Come, I'll show you."

He leaped out of the Hanomag and turned to Draut. The ugly little creature eyed him suspiciously, then turned to the wolves and ravens in the back. The bigger of the two wolves, Krelloff, took deep sniffs of the air.

"I do not sense any deceit from the man," it told Draut. After a moment's pause, the goblin jumped out of the Hanomag and trudged over to Skorzeny.

"Lead, _Obersturmfuhrer."_

Skorzeny flashed him a smile and strode toward the cave. Movement from above caught his attention. He spotted a bird taking to the air from a nearby tree. A small blue one, not the large one he'd seen earlier circling high above them. The thing had been much, much bigger than a falcon or hawk. Perhaps it was one of those huge eagles that had served the Queen of Narnia. Rocs, Draut had called them.

Skorzeny looked back at his men, who would stay behind with the Hanomags and make sure their new allies didn't try to betray them. Then without hesitation, he stepped into the cave. He tensed up when everything went dark around him, but stretched out his hand, feeling for the –

His palm bumped against a wooden door.

"Well, here we are." Skorzeny chuckled briefly. "I bet everyone will be surprised to see me." He glanced over his shoulder, catching the silhouette of Draut. "They'll probably be more surprised to see you. For my people, goblins are mere fairy tale creatures, not real."

Draut simply grunted in response.

Skorzeny chuckled again, then opened the door.

"I'm home!" he announced as he walked into the vault. The heads of every scientist and soldier in the room snapped up.

"_Was ist das?" _One of the guards by the enormous steel door raised his MP40. The second guard did the same a second later. Several scientists gasped in shock and fear.

_Uh-oh. _Skorzeny turned around. Draut's face twisted. His hand went to his sword.

"_Nein!" _Skorzeny shot out both hands. _"Nein! _Lower your weapons!" He shouted at the guards. "I said lower them! That is an order. Draut here is a guest of the Reich. An ambassador from Narnia. Do you want to offend him by treating him like an enemy? How do you think _Der Fuhrer _will react if he learns we have cost _Das Reich_ an important ally because you all acted like frightened schoolgirls?"

The mere threat of _Der Fuhrer's_ wrath created a heavy silence in the room. The guards lowered their submachine guns. Many of the scientists looked away, obviously embarrassed.

"Good. Now someone fetch me _Oberfuhrer _Kleinz. _Schnell!"_

One of the guards snapped to attention and ordered the vault door open. Less than ten minutes later, Kleinz, the base commander, arrived. His jaw dropped at the sight of Draut.

"What . . . what is that?" he stammered.

"_Herr Oberfuhrer," _Skorzeny said with a dramatic flair. "This is Draut, chief lieutenant of the Army of the Queen of Narnia."

Kleinz's face scrunched up. "The who? What?"

Skorzeny just grinned. "My trip to Narnia was very productive. I need to contact _Reichsfuhrer_ Himmler immediately."

Kleinz managed to tear his eyes away from Draut and regain his composure. "Of course. The _Reichsfuhrer _should be back in Berlin by now."

Skorzeny's brow furrowed. "You mean _Herr _Himmler was here today?"

Kleinz paused, looking confused. "Of course he was. He saw you all off."

"Yes, but that was nearly two weeks ago."

"Two weeks?" A baffled expression formed on Kleinz's face. Several of the scientists also wore similar expressions.

The base commander continued. _"Herr Obersturmfuhrer, _you have been gone for no more than four hours."

Skorzeny fought a losing battle to keep the surprise off his face. "Four hours? But . . . how can that be?" He bit his lip, thinking back to when he and the others emerged from the wardrobe back at the English manor. Egger had told them they'd only been gone for a minute, when for him and his men over two hours had passed.

"I guess time truly does work differently between here and Narnia. Another thing I will add to my report to _Reichsfuhrer _Himmler."

Kleinz nodded. "Use the phone in my office. Come."

Skorzeny and Draut followed Kleinz out of the vault and took the elevator to his office. The _Oberfuhrer _left the two alone as Skorzeny picked up the phone and called Himmler's office in Berlin.

"_Herr Obersturmfuhrer_," said the head of the SS. "Back so soon?"

"Soon perhaps for everyone in this world, _Herr Reichsfuhrer. _One of the things we have learned is that time passes much differently in Narnia than it does here. While only a few hours went by for you, my men and I have been gone for nearly two weeks."

A pause by Himmler. "I see. I know our scientists had previously found some time anomalies during their first forays into the wardrobe, but nothing that significant. No matter. What of the route to the wardrobe in England?"

Skorzeny gave the _Reichsfuhrer _his report on the journey through Narnia, their massacre of the centaurs, and their reconnaissance of the estate in Risinghurst.

"It is in a perfect location. The Oxford to London Road is not far away, giving us easy access to both cities. The only problem is the wardrobe in England is too small to bring vehicles through it."

"No matter," Himmler replied. "We can use just infantry forces to bog down the British in their capital while we gather heavier forces to send across the Channel. Anything else?"

"Yes, _Herr Reichsfuhrer._ It appears I have made some new allies for us." He then told him of his meeting with Draut and the Queen of Narnia's army. "Their queen, however, was killed by an army led by the new kings and queens of Narnia."

"Kings and queens? They have more than one?"

"Yes, _Herr Reichsfuhrer. _From what we can gather, they are brothers and sisters. Just children, really. But what is most distressing is that they are all British citizens."  
Himmler paused again. Skorzeny swore he heard his superior growl over the phone. "Are you telling me that the British are in control of Narnia?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. We do not know if the British government is aware of these new kings and queens."

"We must assume they are, Skorzeny. _Mein Gott, _what if they are aware of the wardrobe we possess? What if they are preparing to use their wardrobe to invade _Das Reich?_ Hold the line. _Der Fuhrer _must be made aware of this development immediately."

Skorzeny heard a thump as Himmler put down the receiver. He turned to Draut, who wore an impatient look.

"Well?" demanded the goblin. "Will your leaders help us?"

"They're discussing that right now. I think I spooked them by saying four Britons sit on the thrones of Narnia."

Draut took a step toward him. "Help us, and our enemies will not longer sit on those thrones. Instead their carcasses will rot in a hole in the ground, and their eyeballs shall be added to my necklace."

Skorzeny's eyes shifted to the goblin's macabre accessory. He grinned at the thought of the children's eyeballs being added to it. All the better if they were Jews, too.

Five minutes passed before a voice erupted from the earpiece. "Is this _Obersturmfuhrer _Skorzeny?"

His eyes widened. The voice was unmistakable. He snapped to attention. _"Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer."_

"Himmler has briefed me on your mission to Narnia. Well done."

"_Danke, Mein Fuhrer."_ Joy flooded Skorzeny's insides. He had just been praised by none other than Adolf Hitler. That could only do wonders for his career.

"This goblin you met, Draut is it?"

"_Ja, Mein Fuhrer."_

"He is with you?"

_"Ja."_

"Put him on."

Skorzeny held out the phone to Draut. The goblin screwed up his face, utterly confused.

"Oh, you speak into this." He pointed to the receiver.

Still looking unsure, Draut leaned toward the phone while Skorzeny still held it. "Um, hello?"

"Is this the goblin?"

Draut's eyes bulged. "You . . . is this a real person I'm hearing?"

"Yes it is. I am Adolf Hitler, leader of the German_ Reich."_

Draut gawked at the phone. "Incredible. I had no idea your magic was so advanced."

"Yes, it is, but this is just a small example of our 'magic.'"

Skorzeny barely stifled a grin at _Der Fuhrer's _attempt to make Draut think the telephone was a magical instead of a technological achievement. _So much the better if it gets him to help us._

Hitler continued, "I understand you are interested in entering into an alliance with the German _Reich."_

"Yes. Yes, I am. The false kings and queens, these British you call them, they are responsible for my majesty's death, for the loss of our power. I want them dead. Aid us in destroying our enemies, and we shall grant you free passage through Narnia so you can destroy your enemies."

A pause. "I think that is a most agreeable proposition," Hitler finally said. "Very well, Draut. _Das Reich_ shall help you regain control of Narnia in exchange for free passage through your world to England."

"Agreed."

"Excellent. Skorzeny. Are you still there?"

"Yes I am, _Mein Fuhrer."_

"Good. The mission for you and your men is about to change from reconnaissance to active combat. I am dispatching two regiments of the Waffen-SS to your location immediately. One will aid Draut and his army in defeating these British children who rule Narnia, the other will proceed to the second wardrobe and attack England."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	8. Chapter 8

"Unbelievable."

A flicker of annoyance went through Niven. Was that the best he could do? One word? For something like this, he should be able to come up with something more poignant. He was a thespian, for God's sake.

But certainly he could be forgiven for his lapse. After all, how was one supposed to react after walking through a wardrobe and winding up in a bloody forest?

"How?" Corporal Taylor said in an awed whisper. "How can you fit a whole forest in a wardrobe?"

"Technically, we're not in the wardrobe," Professor Kirke corrected him. "The wardrobe is . . . shall we call it a gateway to this world?"

"This world?" The normally unflappable Sergeant-Major Pike whipped his head toward the professor, eyes bulging in astonishment. "What do you mean 'world?' Just where the bloody hell are we?"

"This place is known as Narnia," Menzies answered.

"Narnia?" Sergeant Ladamire repeated. "Where exactly is it? I mean, are we still in Britain?"

Kirke chuckled. "Oh my dear Sergeant. We are far, far away from Britain."

"How far?" asked Rowling.

"Oh, I doubt we can measure such a distance in miles."

"When you called this place a world," Fleming began, "do you mean a world like Mars?"

"Blimey!" Rowling barked. "Did we just walk into an H.G. Wells novel here?"

Kirke tilted his head to the side. "Mm, I don't think you can classify Narnia as a planet like Mars. It's just . . . well, it just is."

Niven continued to gawk at the forest around him, trying to wrap his head around the whole situation.

_Just when you think you know how the world works . . ._

He bit down on his lip, expecting to wake up. This had to be a dream. Or perhaps it was some sort of exercise, his superiors wanting to see how he and his men dealt with unusual situations. He'd seen elaborate sets built for movies. Perhaps the Ministry of Defense recruited some of those people to build this.

But no. The more he looked around, the more he knew this vast forest was real. They were in some other world, a world you could enter through a bloody wardrobe.

_Right then, David. You've just been thrust into a unique situation. Now accept it and start acting like an officer._

"Sir." He turned to Menzies. "I assume you didn't bring us here for a holiday."

The head of MI-6 gave him a wry grin. "You assume correctly, Lieutenant. The wardrobe we just entered through is not the only one of its kind in the world. There's another one that at last report was in Poland."

Niven's chest clenched. "Well, we all know who's in control of Poland, don't we?"

"Are you saying the Germans have control of the other wardrobe?" asked Fleming.

"It would seem so, Commander," Menzies replied.

Pike grunted and shook his head. "Lovely. And all this time we worried about Jerry coming across the Channel. Now they can just walk through this wardrobe and march straight to London."

Menzies nodded. "That's exactly our fear, Sergeant-Major."

"So I take it we've already had some Nazis come through this wardrobe," said Niven. "Those saboteurs you were talking about."

"Correct. The information we received from Professor Kirke and his housekeeper indicate it was just a small squad that came through, most likely to conduct reconnaissance of the surrounding area."

"And I imagine the next bunch of Nazis that come through the wardrobe will be much larger than a squad," Fleming stated. "More like a whole division."

"Oh no doubt, my sea-faring friend." Kirke nodded. "Hitler's not likely to pass up this opportunity to invade England, especially since he doesn't have to worry about the RAF or the navy blowing his ships out of the water trying to cross the English Channel."

"So what do you want us to do, Sir?" Niven looked at Menzies.

"I want you and your men to recce Narnia. Locate any Nazi forces and report their positions back to us. That's your first priority. Second priority is to locate the access point for the Nazi wardrobe."

Rowling let out a long whistle. "Blimey. This sounds more like a job for Jules Verne."

"Yes, well, Mister Verne's been dead for quite some time now," Menzies replied. "So I'm afraid it's up to you lot to get this done."

"We shant let you down, Sir." Niven straightened up, as did the rest of his men.

"I'm sure you won't, Lieutenant. Now, let's retire to the parlor. We'll conduct the rest of our briefing there."

Kirke walked back into the wardrobe first, followed by the others. When Niven re-entered the large bare room, he looked around, then turned back to the wardrobe, shaking his head. _A room on this end, a forest on the other end._ He wondered if he'd ever get used to it.

When they got to the parlor, they all gathered round a table where Professor Kirke laid out several hand-drawn maps of Narnia. Niven was impressed with the artistry and the detail, and wondered if the Professor actually drew them himself. They went over possible routes the Nazis might take to reach the entrance to the wardrobe upstairs, major geographic landmarks, settlements, and specific regions of Narnia.

"And now," Kirke began, "I should probably tell you about some of the inhabitants you may encounter in Narnia."

"You mean there are people living there?" inquired Sergeant Davis.

"Oh, there are more than people in Narnia, Sergeant."

Every commandos' jaw dropped when Kirke ran down who exactly lived in Narnia. Or perhaps, _what_ exactly lived there. Centaurs, Minotaurs, goblins, dwarves, gryphons, unicorns.

"You mean all those things actually exist?" An amazed look came over Rowling's face.

"Oh yes. Then, of course, there are the sort of animals you are already familiar with, like horses and foxes and bears. Though, mind you, they can talk."

"What!" Taylor stammered. "Talking animals? You mean like Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck?"

"Oh no, Corporal, nothing like them," answered Kirke. "They're depicted more like people than animals. The talking animals you may see in Narnia are, well, actual animals."

"Blimey." Pike lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Just when you thought this whole thing couldn't get any more peculiar."

Kirke then took the whole matter one step further, explaining to them which creatures were friendly and which were evil. "At least, that was the case when Stewart and I last visited Narnia."

"And when was that, Professor?" Fleming asked.

"1912. Of course, time tends to pass differently in Narnia. While months may go by there, here in our world a few minutes may pass."

Niven just stared at the Professor, his mind trying to process the information. First a whole other world on the other side of a wardrobe, then mythical creatures, then talking animals, then time going all wonky between here and Narnia. Niven rubbed his brow. His head would probably explode if Kirke gave him another far-fetched piece of information about Narnia.

"I know this is a lot for you men to swallow," Menzies slowly rotated his head, his gaze landing on each and every one of Niven's men. "But you are Commandos, the best the British Army has to offer. You've all been trained to deal with missions beyond the norm."

Niven tightened his lips, containing himself from challenging Menzies statement. Nothing in his Commando training dealt with going to other worlds inhabited by imaginary creatures and talking animals.

"Well," Menzies continued. "Nothing could be more beyond the norm than this. But what you are all tasked to do here is of vital importance to not only the future of Great Britain, but to the entire free world. The Nazis cannot be allowed to come through that wardrobe again. I know what you have just seen, what we have just told you about Narnia, is a lot to take in. Trust me when I say I know what you're going through. The thoughts you have most likely mirror the ones Professor Kirke and myself had when we first entered Narnia all those years ago. But we quickly accepted the situation and did what needed to be done. I expect no less from each and every one of you."

Niven looked around the table at his men. All their eyes fell on him. He sucked down a deep breath, trying to put on his most confident face. Menzies was spot on. This situation was beyond imagination. An entire world tucked away in a wardrobe? It sounded like something out of a children's book.

Whatever feelings of astonishment he had, he shoved them aside. Narnia was real. He had to accept that, because the Nazis planned to use that world as a bridge to invade his country, and he'd be damned if Britain would suffer the same fate as the rest of Europe if he had any say in the matter.

"We're ready for whatever lies ahead, Sir." He looked around at the rest of his men, and Fleming. All wore looks of determination.

"Excellent." Menzies nodded, then turned to Fleming. "Commander. While you may outrank Lieutenant Niven here, given the nature of this mission, and your lack of experience in commando operations, he will be in full command of this mission. I expect you to obey his orders as you would those of any superior officer. Will you be able to do that?"

"Yes, Sir."

Niven stared at Fleming. He took it as a positive sign that the naval officer answered almost immediately. That meant Fleming was smart enough to know when he was out of his element and rely on more experienced people, regardless of their rank. Still, worry niggled the back of his mind. When the time came for him to give Fleming an order, would he follow it without question? Niven knew how he would feel if a sergeant started ordering him around.

"We'll also need an R/T unit for this," Pike stated, referring to a Radio/Telephone unit.

"Right." Niven nodded. "Davis, it'll be your job to lug that thing around."

"Yes, Sir."

"Actually, I just had a thought." Fleming raised his hand. "Will R/T units work in Narnia?"

Menzies and Kirke looked at one another. Worry started to creep through Niven the longer their silence continued.

"You know," Kirke finally spoke. "I'm not all together certain. We never had an opportunity to see if any devices like that would work in Narnia."

Niven grinded his teeth. This was not something he wanted to hear on the eve of a mission like this. What if they happened to spot a German division heading toward the wardrobe? How would they warn everyone back here if the bloody R/T didn't work?

Menzies slowly worked his jaw back and forth in obvious thought. "It's entirely possible the R/T won't be able to transmit from Narnia back to our world. What we may need to do is set up a relay unit with another R/T just outside the entrance to Narnia, then they can deliver your messages to us as soon as they get them." He checked his watch. "We should have elements from Twelfth Corps here to relieve the supply troops and Home Guard in a few hours. I'll assign some of them for this task."

"Also, you may want to be on the lookout for some children," Kirke added.

"Children?" Niven furrowed his brow. "What children?"  
"Hang on. I won't be a moment."

Kirke left the parlor. A few minutes later he returned holding a framed photo, which he handed to Niven. He studied the black-and-white picture of four children, ranging in age, he guessed, from seven to sixteen.

"The Pevensie children," Kirke said. "Peter, the oldest, Susan, the oldest girl, Edmund, and Lucy, the youngest. They're evacuees from London. Been missing for quite a while. I suspect they're in Narnia."

"Are you certain, Sir?" Pike asked.

"Oh, quite. Peter and Susan mentioned to me that little Lucy there came to them with a story about going through the wardrobe and winding up in a forest and meeting this faun named Tumnus. I can only assume that somehow all four children have entered the wardrobe, no doubt having the sort of adventures Stewart and I did during our younger days."

"If that's the case, I hope they're all right." A grim look came over Menzies face. "Narnia can be a very dangerous place."

"If the children are there," said Kirke, "then hopefully they've made some allies by now. You and your men may need them to help you in your mission, Lieutenant."

Niven said nothing, just stared at the photo of the Pevensies. He couldn't imagine how four children could help a group of highly-trained Commandos. Still, they might know the land and its people much better than his men. For a situation like this, he couldn't afford to turn down any aid, even if it came from children.

"Thank you, Professor." Niven slipped the picture out of its frame and placed it in his uniform's left breast pocket. "We'll do our best to make contact with them."

"Very well," said Menzies. "I think that should about do it. Lieutenant, you and your men get some rest. As soon as Twelfth Corps arrives, we'll begin the mission, codenamed Operation: Golden Gun. Your unit shall be designated Thunderball, the relay unit shall be designated Golden Eye. Any questions?"

No one had any.

Menzies dismissed them. The Commandos headed to the living room and settled into chairs and sofas.

"Enjoy it while you can, lads." Pike pushed himself deeper into a cushioned chair. "These will probably be the last comfortable things we sleep in for a while."

"Don't know if I'll be able to sleep, Sergeant-Major," Rowling said as he stretched out on a sofa. "I can't help but think what it would be like to meet a centaur or a gryphon. What do you say to things like them?"

"You could try 'hello' for starters," Taylor offered.

The others laughed, including Niven.

"Enough talk," Pike said. "Get to sleep."

"The Sergeant-Major's right," Niven chimed in. "I imagine we're going to need all the rest we can get before this mission."

The men shuffled in their chairs and sofas, trying to get comfortable. Niven leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It didn't take long before sleep overcame him.

"Lieutenant. Lieutenant."

Someone tapped Niven's shoulder. His eyes snapped open. His hand started to move to his holstered Webley revolver when he noticed a portly man with a gray-brown mustache in a Home Guard uniform standing over him.

"Sorry to disturb you, Sir, but Mister Menzies wants you and your men outside. The reinforcements from London are here."

Niven rubbed a hand over his face, trying to rid the bleariness from his eyes. Bloody hell, just when he'd gotten to sleep . . .

He checked his wristwatch, and blinked a couple times to make sure it was correct. He'd actually been asleep for six hours.

_Feels more like six seconds._

He stared back up at the Home Guard volunteer. "Thank you. Tell Mister Menzies we're on our way."

"Yes, Sir." The volunteer strode out of the living room.

Niven rousted the other Commandos and led them outside. Several lorries and Bedford trucks rolled onto the Kirke Estate. When they stopped, groups of soldiers piled out of them.

Niven spotted Menzies and Kirke ten meters away, standing beside a lorry. Just as he and the other Commandos reached them, he noticed a slender figure marching toward them, chest puffed out, nose pointed skyward. It reminded Niven of the self-important strut he'd seen from Hollywood stars and starlets walking the red carpet at some big film premier.

_I wonder who he is._

Whoever he was, he wore the insignia of a Lieutenant General. That made Niven snap to attention. His men followed suit immediately.

The General gave the Commandos a brief glance before focusing on Menzies. He then came to attention and made a show of saluting. "Sir! Lieutenant General Bernard Montgomery, Twelfth Corps commander, reporting for duty, along with my 56th London Infantry Division, some of the best men I've got."

Menzies cranked an eyebrow. "Taking personal charge here, General? I would have thought you'd leave this up to your division commander."

"Normally I would, but the Prime Minister fully briefed me on this rather unique situation you have here in Risinghurst. Thought it would be best to oversee the matter myself."

The corners of Niven's mouth twitched. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach. Had this Montgomery character come out of his comfy office at Corps Headquarters wanting to make a name for himself? Was he the sort of general he'd entrust to keeping any German force from breaking out of the house and advancing on London?

Montgomery then turned to Niven, who still stood at attention.

"At ease. I assume you're the Commandos we're sending through to this Narnia place first?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And your name?"

"Lieutenant David Niven."

Montgomery's face brightened. "David Niven? By jove, pleasure to meet you." The General gave him a hearty handshake. "Smashing performance you gave in _Dawn Patrol."_

The veins in Niven's neck stuck out. He hated when people heaped that sort of praise on him when in uniform. It made him wonder if they only saw him as an actor, if they thought he only joined the Commandos to further his fame. Dammit, he was here doing his patriotic duty, not to boost his film career. If they didn't defeat the Germans, he would have no more film career. And worse, he and the rest of his countrymen would have no more freedom.

Unfortunately, when a Lieutenant General gave a Lieutenant that kind of praise, there was only one way for the Lieutenant to respond.

"Thank you, Sir."

Montgomery nodded and smiled before turning to Menzies. "So, shall we take a gander of this Narnia place?"

The head of MI-6 led Montgomery, Professor Kirke and the Commandos back inside the house. They all went upstairs and entered the wardrobe.

"I say." Montgomery gaped at the forest before him. "Astonishing. Simply astonishing. An entire forest here in a simple wardrobe. And it's daylight, when it should be early morning."

"You'll find time works differently between Narnia and our world," Menzies explained.

Montgomery shook his head. "No disrespect to the Prime Minister, but I'm afraid his mere words didn't properly prepare me for . . . this."

"It is something you have to see for yourself to fully accept," Kirke said.

Montgomery turned to him, and again puffed out his chest, the shock that had been on his craggy, mustached face dissolving. "Yes, well, I have no time to stand here in awe over this place. Must get cracking and prepare a proper welcome for Jerry when he comes."

He strutted past the lamppost and gazed at the terrain. Niven found a little respect starting to form for the General. The man had gotten over the shock of Narnia a lot quicker than he or the other Commandos did. He could sense Montgomery's mind working on ways to keep the Nazis from entering the wardrobe.

"We have a perfect killing ground here. Narrow path. Jerry will have to funnel his men through here. Machine gun emplacements on either side, definitely. Perhaps some flamethrowers. Any of the blighters do get through, I'll have a Vickers machine gun set up in the doorway to mow them down. But this should be our second line of defense. First line should be further out. A clearing, perhaps, that Jerry will have to travel through to reach the wardrobe." Montgomery turned to the Commandos. "That'll be up to you men to find."

"Yes, Sir," Niven responded.

Montgomery went back through the wardrobe. He returned a few minutes later with two soldiers, one of whom carried an R/T. The sight of walking through a wardrobe into a forest stunned both of them into gaping silence. It took General Montgomery yelling right in their faces to snap them out of it. He then told Niven to go out about a mile, then radio back to make sure they could stay in contact.

"Good luck to all of you," Menzies said, shaking all their hands. Kirke and Montgomery did likewise.

Niven took a deep breath and stared down the path, wondering what awaited them in Narnia, wondering if he was capable of leading such a mission.

_I'd better be._

"Right, lads. Let's move out. Eyes sharp at all times."

The six Commandos, plus Fleming, headed down the path. Niven's eyes constantly flickered in all directions, wondering if a Minotaur or goblin would pop out at any moment.

None did.

When they got a mile from the entrance to Narnia, Niven called a halt. He took the receiver from Davis' R/T. "Thunderball to Golden Eye. This is a radio check. Respond. Over."

A pause. Niven bit his lip, waiting, hoping for a response. He was about to repeat himself when a voice burst through the earpiece.

"Golden Eye to Thunderball. We read you loud and clear. Over."

Relief flooded through Niven. "Roger that. Nice to know we can stay in touch here. Thunderball out." He handed the receiver back to Davis.

"Hopefully that's a good sign for the rest of this mission," Rowling said.

"I hope so too, Corporal. Now, let's keep moving."

It was almost evening by the time they cleared the forest and came upon a field of green grass and rolling hills. They radioed their position back to Golden Eye, hoping General Montgomery would use this as his first line of defense.

They kept going until nightfall, finding no sign of Germans or Narnians. The Commandos set up camp on a hill that offered a good view of the entire valley. Any threats that appeared, they would have ample time to prepare for them. After eating from their ration tins, Niven set the sentry rotation, taking first watch himself. The hour passed uneventfully before he woke Sergeant Ladamire to relieve him. He then his spread his thick blanket out on the ground, wrapped it around his lean frame, and fell asleep almost immediately.

He found himself back in Professor Kirke's house, staring out a window at the nearby forest, feeling the warmth of the sun's rays through the glass. Someone was massaging his shoulders. He turned to find a slim, beautiful blond woman behind him.

"Relax, dear," Primmie told him. "The war's over. Everything's wonderful."

"Of course it is." He took hold of his wife's hand and kissed it.

Primmie smiled. "Oh, I received a call from the studio. They want you to play Sherlock Holmes."

A smile broke out on Niven's face. That was a happy surprise. Basil Rathbone had done an excellent job in the two Holmes movies a couple years ago. _I wonder why they changed their minds for this next movie? _

What did it matter? They were giving him the chance to play the world's most famous fictional detective. Surely this would be a huge boost to his career.

_But the war._

He shook his head. Primmie had just said the war was over. Yet it didn't feel that way to him. It still felt like he had something left to do. Something important.

"Sir! Sir!"

Niven's eyes snapped open. The dream world faded, replaced by a reddish-orange morning sky and the form of Corporal Rowling running toward him.

"What is it, Rowling?" Niven threw the blanket off him.

"Incoming, Sir."

"Incoming what?"

"Uh . . . gryphons, I think."

Shock took hold of Niven for a moment. He quickly shook it off and scanned the sky.

There in the distance, coming from the north, were six winged shapes. He leaned forward and squinted. Niven could just make out the bodies that resembled a lion's and beaks that resembled an eagle's. Just like the way gryphons had been described when he read Greek Mythology during his school days.

"Get up!" He hollered. "Everybody up! On your feet!"

The others immediately came awake, reaching for their weapons.

"No! No weapons!"

"Beg your pardon, Sir?" Pike gave him a perplexed look.

"Corporal Rowling reports gryphons approaching our position."

"And you don't want us defending ourselves against them, Sir?" Disbelief flared in the eyes of Sergeant Ladamire.

"Remember what Professor Kirke said," Fleming spoke. "Gryphons are supposed to be good monsters."

"The Commander's correct." Niven pointed at Fleming. "This could be our chance to make allies in Narnia, and we'll likely need all the friends we can make here if this mission is going to succeed. Now leave your weapons where they are."

He pulled a white handkerchief from his pants pocket. For a moment, Niven frowned. He never imagined he'd use a handkerchief for this.

_You're not surrendering. You're just showing you don't mean them any harm._

He moved to the middle of the hill, the others around him. If any of them were nervous, they didn't show it. Even Fleming. In fact, the navy officer looked a bit excited as the gryphons drew nearer. So did Rowling for that matter. Probably all those H.G. Wells and Jules Verne books he liked to read. He probably couldn't wait to meet actual monsters.

Niven waved the white handkerchief over his head. The gryphons flapped their wings and landed, surrounding him. An icy chill gripped his body as he now got a closer look at the beasts. They were much bigger than a lion. His eyes moved from their beaks to the razor sharp talons on their feet, which could rip apart him and his men the way a butcher chops up a side of lamb. He also took note of the creatures' dark eyes, the way their shoulders tensed, as if ready to spring upon them. They did not look like friendly monsters.

Biting his lip, Niven glanced at his men, wondering if he had just condemned them all to death.

One of the gryphons took a step toward him. Niven had to fight hard to keep from flinching. The creature twisted its head, and appeared to give him an appraising look.

"You are men. Men in strange uniforms."

"Blimey!" Rowling's eyes bulged. "They really can talk."

"Shut it, Rowling," Pike growled.

"Perhaps they are _Naa-sees," _said another gryphon.

"Yes, look here." A third gryphon tromped over to their little encampment. "They have strange tubes, like the ones Fox described. The ones that spit fire and tear apart flesh."

The first gryphon's eyes seemed to blaze with intensity . . . or maybe anger? "Are you a _Naa-see?"_

"Certainly not."

"Then who are you?"

"Lieutenant David Niven, British Army. My country happens to be a war with the Nazis."

"So you say."

Niven tried not to swallow, his eyes flickering from the first gryphon's beak to its talons. He doubted the creature would take his word that he and his men weren't Nazis. But he still had one card to play, and if that one didn't work . . .

_Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it._

"The country we come from, you may have met some of our citizens already. Children perhaps. I have a picture of them." He reached for his pocket.

The gryphons all growled and edged closer.

Niven held up both hands. "Please. I just want to show you something. It's not a weapon."

The first gryphon stared at him for several silent seconds, then nodded. "Any treachery, and this sunrise will be the last you will ever see."

"Fair enough." Slowly, Niven reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo of the Pevensies. He held it out for the gryphon, who came closer, along with another gryphon.

"They do look like the kings and queens," said the other gryphon. "And so life-like. Surely no artist could create a portrait like this."

Niven tried to keep the amazement off his face. Those four children had become kings and queens? He couldn't even imagine what sort of adventures they'd been involved with for that to happen.

"And listen to the manner of his speech, Swiftwind," said another gryphon. "He sounds much like the kings and queens. Perhaps he does tell the truth."

The first gryphon, Swiftwind, eyed the other creatures, then stared back at Niven. His heart hammered against his chest. _Yes. Please believe us._

"Perhaps you are not _Naa-sees."_

"We are most certainly not Nazis. We've come here to find them, and kill them."

"The _Naa-sees_ have already killed Narnians. A band of centaurs. They . . . they butchered them." A sharp hiss came from Swiftwind's nostrils.

"Then perhaps we can join forces to stop them." Niven put on his best movie star smile. "Now, if I could make a request. Take us to your leaders."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_The 56th London Infantry Division was an actual division of the British Army during WWII, tasked with defending the country in the event of a German invasion. General Bernard Montgomery was also the actual commander of XII Corps, of which the 56th Division was part of, during the time period that this story takes place. Montgomery would go on to lead the British 8th Army to victory over Axis forces in North Africa in 1942. _


	9. Chapter 9

A bemused look came over Skorzeny as he watched the procession roll past him. A never-ending growl of engines filled the air as all manner of vehicle drove by. Hanomags. Kubelwagens. Squat, slanted SdKfz 222 armored cars. Boxy Opel Blitz trucks. SIG 33 self-propelled howitzers with their flat chasses, metal shields and 15cm guns. Six-wheeled, open cab Krupp Kf81 trucks that hauled FK 18 75mm field guns. PzKpfw Panzer IIIs with their stubby 37mm guns.

He drew a deep breath, trying to imagine the devastation they would inflict on an army equipped with swords and shields and arrows.

_This could be easier than the invasion of Denmark. _There the Danes surrendered roughly two hours after the first German forces crossed the border. Here he wouldn't be surprised to see the primitive Narnians throw up their hands after the first few artillery shells exploded among them.

"So big."

Skorzney turned and lowered his gaze. Draut stood beside him, its beady dark eyes now the size of saucers. The goblin watched one of the SIG 33s roll past, followed by another. It turned to him. "Those big tubes. They are like your . . . gun?" It nodded to the MP40 dangling at Skorzeny's waist. "They spit fire and tear apart the enemy."

"They do more than that. The projectiles they fire are much, much larger than the bullets in this weapon." Skorzeny patted his MP40. "They will also fly perhaps fifty times farther than anything hurled by your best catapult. And when our shells hit, they explode. Very large explosions at that."

Impossibly, Draut's eyes grew even wider. "These explosions. Are they powerful enough to shatter the stone walls of Cair Paravel?"

"Oh, most definitely."

The little monster looked so excited Skorzeny thought it might jump up and down in joy. Its mouth twisted in what he first took as a sneer, then figured it might just be the way Draut smiled.

"I only ask one favor." The goblin stepped closer to him. "Try not to damage the false kings and queens too much with the big exploding tubes. I want their eyeballs." It fingered its macabre necklace. "Especially the little girl's."

Skorzeny titled his head to one side, then shrugged and grinned. "Who am I to stand in the way of a goblin and a queen's eyeballs?"

Draut's scowl/smile widened.

Shouts of surprise and distress punched through the constant drone of engines. Skorzeny noticed several SS troopers in the open compartments of passing Hanomags and Kubelwagens gawk and point skyward. He turned and spotted a Roc flapping its wings as it came in for a landing.

When he turned back to the vehicles, he saw their stunned drivers had slowed down. While some troopers froze in shock at the sight of the giant eagle, others brought up their rifles and machine guns.

"_Nein!"_ Skorzeny rushed forward. _"Nein, _dammit! Hold your fire! That monster is an ally! Hold your fire!"

The troopers obeyed, though a few stared at Skorzeny as he jogged alongside their vehicles like he was crazy.

"No matter what these things look like, we are on the same side now, and with their help we shall defeat the damn British. Remember that! And remember that you are SS, and SS do not react to unusual situations like a bunch of panicky school girls! Do so again and I will personally gut each and every one of you! Understood?"

A full second of silence passed, then the troopers blurted, _"Jawohl!"_

After shooting them a parting death stare, Skorzeny turned and marched back to Draut and the Roc, who were conversing about something.

"Skorzeny!" the goblin shouted. "Come. Bloodsky here has most wonderful news."

Skorzeny stood in front of the Roc called Bloodsky. "What is it?"

"I have spotted a large number of the enemy. Perhaps a thousand. And they are led by the four false kings and queens."

An excited jolt shot through Skorzeny. "How far away are they?"

"They approach Hanaspoek's Grove. They should reach it just as the sun begins its descent."

Skorzeny looked up at the sky. Right now it was mid-morning. He dug into his map case and unfurled one of Thalberg's hand-drawn maps of Narnia. He noted their position, then had Draut point out Hanaspoek's grove. With the speed of their vehicles they should beat the British-led Narnians there by several hours. Skorzeny then recalled the place when he and his men had driven by it during their reconnaissance. Plenty of trees and underbrush. Excellent places for concealment.

That's when the plan began to form.

"Come." He headed off without waiting for a reply from Draut or Bloodsky. A quick glance over his shoulder found that both monsters were following him.

He made a beeline toward a compact Stower 40 field car. A squat man with big arms and a pug face stood in front of the hood, watching the line of SS vehicles motor along.

"_Herr Gruppenfuhrer." _Skorzeny snapped to attention.

_Gruppenfuhrer _Werner Kempf turned toward him. The overall commander of the SS expeditionary force to Narnia gazed past him, probably taking in the Roc. Understandable. Skorzeny doubted any German had ever seen an eagle bigger than an elephant. To his credit, Kempf did not show a trace of surprise or, most importantly, fear.

_He wouldn't be a good general if he did._

"_Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer."_

Skorzeny couldn't help but blink. It took his mind a few moments to realize Kempf was referring to him when he said _Hauptsturmfuhrer. _The new rank still took some getting used to, given how suddenly it had happened. Before the first of the SS expeditionary force arrived at the secret base, _Der Fuhrer _sent word that Skorzeny and all the men in his squad had been promoted for their successful reconnaissance of Narnia.

"_Mein Herr. _Our winged friend brings news of the British-led Narnian forces."

Bloodsky repeated the same information to Kempf that it had given Skorzeny and Draut. A hint of a smile cracked the _Gruppenfuhrer's _stony mask.

"This is most fortunate. We can wipe out the bulk of their forces in one strike, then this Cair Paravel place should fall easily, and the rest of our forces can proceed to the wardrobe in England unmolested." He turned to a lean _Sturmmann _with a radio telephone. "Contact all senior commanders. The Cair Paravel regiment will immediately change direction and head east for the large grove. I want them to keep going until they see the main Narnian force and then . . . just kill them all."

"If I may, _Herr Gruppenfuhrer."_

Kempf turned a curious, perhaps somewhat irritated, eye toward him. _"Ja?"_

"I just wonder if a direct charge is the best way to attack the Narnians."

Kempf grunted. "Come now, _Hauptsturmfuhrer. _Your own report says the Narnians' weapons technology is at a medieval level. Do we really need an elaborate strategy against creatures armed with swords and axes?"

"Perhaps not an elaborate strategy, but a strategy nonetheless. As you said, we have a chance to wipe out the majority of the Narnian army in one blow. But, those Narnians have the capability of aerial reconnaissance in the form of gryphons. If they spot us, they will send word back to the kings and queens. Being British, they know just what we're capable of. They know their weapons won't stand a chance against ours. They may decide to go into hiding, or make their way back to their wardrobe and seek help from the British government."

Kempf's jaw tightened. He blinked a couple times before speaking. "You make a good point, _Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer."_

"_Danke, Mein Herr."_

"Do you have a solution for this?"

Skorzeny grinned. "As a matter of fact, I do."

He spent the next five minutes outlining his plan to not just Kempf, but to Draut as well. When he finished, the goblin appeared excited. Kempf said nothing. He just stared straight ahead, unsmiling, as though in thought.

Skorzeny chewed on his lower lip, waiting, hoping for a response.

Kempf took a breath. "It appears Sepp Dietrich was right about you."

"_Mein Herr?" _Skorzeny's brow furrowed at the mention of his commanding officer on the Russian Front.

A little smile creased Kempf's lips. "Sepp and I have known each other for several years. When _Der Fuhrer_ informed me of this mission, and your role in it, I contacted Sepp and asked him about you. He called you one of the most innovative officers he has ever commanded. And after hearing your plan, I'm apt to agree."

"_Danke, Mein Herr."_

Kempf nodded. "You three stay here. When the rest of our forces come through the wardrobe, I will call a meeting of our senior commanders and brief them on our new plan."

Skorzeny puffed his chest out, trying not to smile too big in front of Kempf. That was difficult to do. He then glanced down Draut, who bounced on the balls of its gnarled feet and rubbed its eyeball necklace.

"I imagine you would be excited, my goblin friend. By the end of today, you should have enough eyeballs to make a hundred necklaces."

**XXXXX**

Peter clenched his jaw as he and his siblings rode at the head of their army. _What do I do? What do I do? _He had been repeating the question in his mind since they set out from Cair Paravel. How would they fight the Nazis? The infantry at least could be dealt with at a distance by archers. But the tanks? What was there in Narnia that could stop a German tank?

_There has to be a way. You have to think of one._

He gripped the reins of his horse tight, frustration boiling inside of him. He should have an answer to that question. He was High King of Narnia, for God's sake. Not just a king, but a warrior-king, like the ones who ruled centuries ago. Ones like Richard the Lion-Hearted and Leonidas of Sparta, who not only led their countries from a throne, but personally led their troops on the battlefield as well. As such, Peter should have come up with a way to defeat Nazi tanks.

Catapults? They could hurl primitive fire bombs. Unfortunately, they only had a range of a couple hundred meters, were rather inaccurate, and much better suited to bombarding a castle than destroying a moving target. Even if they did hit the tank, would it do anything at all to its armor?

Peter sighed, fighting to maintain his confident façade. He happened to glance at Susan, who fixed him with a concerned look. His chest tightened. Did she know how worried he was? Could the others tell? He thought he had done a good job of concealing his fears.

He took a breath, reassuring himself he appeared confident to the Narnians. As for his sister, well, Susan always had a knack for reading him.

"I'm fine," he quickly, quietly mouthed to her before turning away. He kept his eyes on the rolling fields ahead of them, trying unsuccessfully to figure out what Narnian weaponry might have some chance of knocking out a tank.

The army rode another mile before a gryphon dove from the sky and landed in front of Peter. He recognized him by his stocky frame and the dark feathers around his neck.

"Stormrider. Anything to report?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Stormrider bowed. "I have spotted remnants of the White Witch's army just before Hanaspoek's Grove."

"How many?"

"Two hundred, perhaps."

A burning sensation slithered through his stomach. "Were there any Nazis with them?"

"No, Your Majesty. I saw no men, or horseless chariots."

Peter nodded, his stomach calming down somewhat. On one hand, he felt glad there were no Nazis with the White Witch's army. With the numbers he had brought, they should easily overwhelm them. On the other hand, where could the Nazis be? The thought of them not with the White Witch's army worried him more than if they had been in their company. For all he knew, the Nazis might be out rounding up more survivors from the White Witch's army. Or they may have found a way back to Germany to bring more troops to Narnia. They could even be headed for Cair Paravel right at this moment.

A harsh breath shot from Peter's nostrils. _We can't afford to be in the dark any more._

He called up an image of Hanaspoek's Grove in his mind. They should be able to reach it in an hour-and-a-half to two hours, and have plenty of daylight left to carry out an attack. Hopefully it would be a quick battle, with many of the White Witch's army surrendering. They needed to take prisoners. Surely one of them would know the whereabouts of the Nazis.

"Edmund, Lucy." He looked to his younger siblings. "Pass the word. We make for Hanaspoek's Grove, and battle."

"Right." Edmund nodded.

"Okay, Peter," said Lucy.

The two turned their horses around, and made their way through the Narnian column. Ten minutes later, after Edmund and Lucy returned to the front, they set off toward the grove, their pace quicker than before.

By late afternoon, they arrived at a row of hills overlooking Hanaspoek's Grove. Peter took Edmund and Stonethunder to the top of one of the hills, hid behind a knot of trees, and peered down at the valley.

_Just as Stormrider said._

Nearly two hundred goblins, wolves, Minotaurs, werewolves, dwarves and other creatures camped out in the valley below. Several sat around cooking fires. Others sharpened swords and axes. Still others stood around with seemingly no idea what to do.

Peter chewed on his lower lip as he observed them. "What do you think, Stonethunder?" he asked the centaur without turning to him.

"They might just be resting, or they could be waiting here for a rendezvous with these Nazis."

Peter nodded. "I think it best to attack them now, before any Nazis show up. Then maybe we can learn from them how many are in Narnia and what weapons they have."

"A wise decision, Your Majesty."

"My main concern is the grove." He stared at the line of trees that sat roughly six hundred meters from the enemy encampment. "If they break and get into those woods, they can easily hide from us. We can't let any of them escape and continue to threaten Narnia."

"I agree," said Stonethunder. "We can send some of our forces out on their flanks first before the rest of us move in for a frontal assault. With luck, we should be able to surround them before any of them can reach the woods."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Edmund chimed in.

Peter looked to his brother, then to Stonethunder. "And me. Come on. Let's get back to the others."

Upon their return, Peter and his siblings met with their senior lieutenants to go over the plan. Stonethunder would lead one force to the left, while another centaur named Moonbreeze led the force attacking from the right flank. Peter would give them fifteen minutes before the rest of the army charged straight at the enemy forces.

His breathing increased and his heart hammered against his chest as he rode up the hill. The same mixture of emotions he felt before the Battle of Beruna swirled inside him. Fear, nervousness, anticipation, excitement, determination, dread. He looked over his shoulder, taking in the centaurs, cheetahs, bears, fauns, gryphons and elk that made up his army. He swallowed. How many of them would die in this battle?

Peter's gaze switched to Susan, Edmund and Lucy. A chill pierced his bones. If he lost any of his siblings . . .

He closed his eyes, trying to push aside his fears. They all survived the great battle against the White Witch and her army. For a fight like this, where they so clearly had the advantage in numbers, they should be fine.

He reached the top of the hill and looked around. Stonethunder's and Moonbreeze's forces were already outflanking the enemy. Several of the White Witch's followers whipped their heads around. A few broke and ran toward the grove. Peter expected someone to try and take command of them. No one did.

Another advantage for his forces.

Peter drew his sword and held it over his head.

"NARNIANS! CHARGE!"

Hundreds of voices merged into a deafening war cry. Hooves and feet and paws pounded the ground as they surged forward.

More of the enemy scattered and ran. The flanking forces started to turn, closing off their avenue of escape. A horde of goblins barreled into the Narnians' left flank and were cut down by the swords of fauns and centaurs.

Not all the White Witch's followers fled. Around twenty of them, led by a werewolf, charged at Peter's forces. Tongue dangling and salvia flying from its maw, the werewolf rushed straight for him. Peter held his breath, gripping his sword as tight as possible.

An arrow flashed nearby. It had to be from Susan. He glimpsed it strike an ogre in the chest. Seconds later another of his sister's arrows brought down a goblin.

The werewolf drew closer. Thirty meters away. Twenty. Fifteen. It roared and leaped through the air.

Peter cried out and swung his sword in front of him. His entire body shook when the blade struck the werewolf's midsection. It yelped as its stomach split open. Warm blood splattered Peter's arm and shoulder. The werewolf slammed into the ground and didn't move.

He searched for more targets. To his left a cheetah and a wolf rolled across the ground, slashing and snapping at one another. A centaur impaled a Minotaur in the chest with her sword. To his right, a faun swung its war hammer and cracked open a dwarf's head. Edmund slashed a goblin across the chest with his sword.

It wasn't long before all the creatures that had charged the Narnians lay dead.

Peter unleashed another war cry, urging his horse to go faster. He clenched his teeth, feeling the blood pulse through his head. He desperately wanted to swing his sword, bring down another monster, and keep bringing them down until none remained to threaten Narnia.

_Prisoners! _A distant voice shouted in his mind. _You have to get prisoners._

More of the White Witch's followers fled, several running into the flanking forces. Peter held his breath, hoping some of them would surrender.

Instead they fought, and were killed.

"Dammit!" he spat, searching for some creature he could take prisoner. An ogre tried to fight off the slashing attacks of a pair of gryphons. An elk gored a Minotaur with its antlers.

That's when he spotted it. A dwarf, running away from the charging Narnians, had tripped and fallen.

Peter leaned forward in his saddle, his eyes locked on the spread-eagled dwarf. It had just pushed itself up on its little legs when Peter's horse pulled up in front of it. He thrust out his sword, the tip less than a foot from the dwarf's bearded face.

"Surrender or die!"

The dwarf scowled at him, then raised its stubby arms.

"You will now consider yourself a prisoner of the forces of Narnia."

The dwarf's face twisted, its teeth bared.

Suddenly, it threw its head back and laughed.

Surprise and anger flashed through Peter. "You think it's funny that you and your forces have been defeated?"

The dwarf laughed even louder. "You think we've been defeated? Oh no, _Your Majesty."_ It said the two words like a curse. "You're the one who's going to be defeated, and soon."

Peter shook his head. This bloody thing had to be mad. Its army was being routed. How could it truly believe the Narnians would lose this battle?

He called over a pair of fauns to take charge of the prisoner. The dwarf just kept laughing. Peter narrowed his eyes at the creature, debating whether or not to kick it in the face. That laughter was getting on his nerves.

Instead, he ordered the fauns to take the dwarf away.

He swung around on his horse, taking in the battle. A few goblins and dwarves raised their hands in surrender, while a couple wolves stretched out their legs and lowered their heads. Some of the tension eased in Peter's muscles. Not long now before the fighting would be over.

A high-pitched whistle filled his ears. Peter's brow furrowed. It reminded him of a train whistle, and it grew louder . . . louder.

Thunder split the air and shook the ground. Peter gasped as huge fountain of smoke and dirt burst from the ground a hundred yards behind him. Fauns and centaurs spun through the air and crashed to the ground.

"What the bloody hell?" His wide eyes remained fixed on the explosion.

Another shriek came from the sky. Another chunk of earth blew apart. Peter's horse whinnied and rear back.

A third explosion engulfed an entire section of the Narnian right flank.

That's when the realization hit Peter. Someone was shooting at them with artillery. And only one group in Narnia could possibly have artillery.

"Take cover! Take -"

A fourth explosion drowned out his words.

His horse reared back again. Peter lost his grip on the reins and tumbled off. He grunted when he hit the ground, the breath shooting out his lungs.

Another explosion rocked the ground. A dull hum filled his ears as he struggled to sit up. A smoky, burning stench hung in the air. His chest tightened in panic.

_Lucy. Edmund. Susan._

He checked around him. He spotted Edmund, off his horse and on the ground, his head swinging left and right. Lucy darted about, giving drops of her cordial to the wounded. There were so many of them, along with Narnians who would never move again.

_Susan. Where's . . ._

He spotted her, still on horseback, even as another massive explosion went off. She gazed ahead of her, eyes wide in shock and terror. Groaning, Peter turned, following his sister's stare.

His body suddenly turned cold.

Tanks burst out of the grove, along with other vehicles. Half-tracks. Had they been hidden in there all along? A shiver went through him when he saw the black iron crosses painted on the sides of the vehicles.

_The Nazis. They're here._

Cracks and puffs of smoke erupted from the tanks. Geysers of dirt and smoke rose throughout the Narnian flanks. Yellow lines flashed through the air from the tanks and half-tracks. Machine gun fire. Narnians in the flanking forces flailed and twisted and collapsed.

Tremors of fear raced up Peter's arms and down his legs when he saw figures emerging from the grove. Hundreds of them. Creatures from the White Witch's army, alongside men in brown and green uniforms carrying rifles and machine guns.

An explosion nearby shook him from his stupor. He turned to the left. Another geyser of smoke and dirt shot in the air, flinging Narnians in all directions. His eyes darted around the battlefield. Several of his soldiers lay on the ground, trying to avoid the machine gun fire. A few raised their weapons and charged at the Germans. They were cut down in seconds.

A cold sweat drenched Peter's body. _Do something. You're the High King of Narnia. Do something!_

He could think of nothing.

**XXXXX**

A smile stretched across Thalberg's face as he watched the battle from his perch in the trees, leaves and branches tied to his uniform to blend in with his surroundings. Skorzeny's plan was going perfectly. With the SS infantry and armor hidden in the woods and the artillery set up near the tree line and covered in camouflage netting, whatever gryphons the Narnians had in the air never spotted them. The company of Draut's army had been the perfect bait to draw in the forces of the British kings and queens. Once they were all dead, Cair Paravel should fall with ease, then nothing would threaten _Das Reich's_ magical invasion route to England.

Thalberg peered through the scope of his Mauser rifle. The Narnian lines had fallen into disarray. The dead lay strewn about the valley. Others ran in all directions, looking for whatever cover they could find. A few simply curled up in little balls, scared into inaction.

He ignored them all. Simple soldiers, especially scared ones, didn't interest him. To him, they had already been removed from the battle. He needed to find the ones who still wanted to fight, who would try to rally the others.

He needed to find the leaders. Taking them out would be more effective than killing ten ordinary soldiers. As a sniper, that was his job. To change the course of a battle, even a war, with one bullet.

Thalberg moved his rifle back and forth, searching . . . searching . . .

There! His crosshairs fell on a large black bear apparently talking to a group of other animals. Thalberg noted how intently the cheetahs and elk and badgers paid attention to what the bear had to say.

He checked his sights and estimated the range at 650 meters. He then raised the rifle a bit and moved it slightly to the left, compensating for bullet drag and wind.

_That should do it._

Thalberg held his breath, let it out halfway, then squeezed the trigger.

A cloud of red blotted out the bear's head. It collapsed on its stomach as the other animals stared at it in shock.

_Perfect._ Thalberg smiled even wider. The round struck just below the bear's ear, right where he wanted it. He so loved it when he made a perfect shot like that.

Thalberg watched the other animals through his scope, resisting the urge to shoot them. They just stood there, such inviting targets.

Seconds later, two of the badgers scampered off. The larger animals then followed, all running away from the advancing German forces.

That made eight enemy soldiers out of the fight, and all it took was one shot.

He so loved being a sniper.

Thalberg searched the battlefield again for another target. He soon found one. Two in fact. Two of the British children, the older ones. The king sat on the ground while the queen knelt beside him. His mind quickly worked out a strategy. Should he take out both of them? If he killed one, the other would likely be in such shock as to make for an easy target.

_No. You only need to kill one to render the other useless._

Funny, the idea came in Skorzeny's voice. Then again, this plan sounded like one Skorzeny might devise. What would demoralize an army worse? A dead leader, or a broken one? The kings and queens were siblings. How would one of them react to the death of the other? Well, Thalberg had a younger sister. Lahti. If anything happened to her, he knew he would be devastated. He doubted the British boy would be any different.

Thalberg moved the crosshairs onto the girl's head and held his breath. He took a moment to admire her clear skin, her dark hair, and those full red lips. She was a very lovely girl.

As a sniper, though, he couldn't afford to be sentimental.

Thalberg released his breath halfway and squeezed the trigger.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **_Gruppenfuhrer is an SS rank equivalent to Lieutenant General. Josef "Sepp" Dietrich was the actual commanding officer of the SS Division known as "Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler," the unit Otto Skorzeny served with during the Soviet campaign._


	10. Chapter 10

Peter watched as more Narnians ran past him. He gripped his sword, wanting to tell them to hold their ground and fight.

A shell exploded nearby. A stream of bullets ripped up the ground a few feet away. His defiance vanished. They had absolutely nothing that could counter Nazi tanks and artillery.

He spotted Susan out the corner of his eye. She launched another arrow into the air. It arced over and struck a German soldier in the chest. She reached behind her for another arrow when an explosion went off a hundred yards behind them. Susan's horse bucked.

A sharp crack penetrated the dull hum in Peter's ears. Susan jerked and tumbled off her horse.

"Susan!" He rushed over to her. Susan rolled onto her back.

Peter's chest turned to ice when he saw it. Blood, lots of it, pouring out of his sister's neck.

"SUSAN!" He dropped to his knees beside her, eyes bulging at the ugly red hole in her neck. Susan tried to breathe, but instead emitted a sickening, wet gargle.

"No, No, No! Susan!" Peter yanked out his dagger, cut off part of his pants and pressed it against Susan's wound. "Somebody help!"

He trembled when Susan looked up at him, her eyes blazing with fear.

"Lucy!" He swung his head in all directions, but could find no sign of her. "Lucy!" Her cordial had saved Edmund's life when he'd been wounded fighting the White Witch. It could do the same for Susan.

Where the hell was she?

"Lucy!"

He looked down at Susan. Her skin turned a ghostly white.

His father's voice echoed in his head, one of the last things he'd said to him before going off to war.

"You're the oldest, Peter. Look after your brother and sisters. Keep them safe. I'm counting on you."

He was going to fail his father. Susan was dying. Was Lucy already dead? Terror gripped him. He pressed harder against Susan's wound.

_Hang on, Susan. Please hang on._

Susan's eyes rolled into the back of her head.

"NO!"

"Susan!"

Peter whipped his head around. Lucy charged toward them, the cordial in her hand.

"Loo! Hurry up!"

She dropped down next to them, tears running down her cheeks. She tipped the cordial. The first drop splashed against the side of Susan's lips. The second one fell into her mouth.

Peter's throat clenched. Would the cordial make it down her throat with that wound?

Hesitantly, he pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from his sister's neck. He gasped when he saw the wound quickly close.

Susan sat up, sucking down a loud, normal-sounding breath.

"Susan! Thank goodness!" Lucy flung her arms around her.

Peter hugged them both. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." Susan nodded. "I'm fine now. Bless you, Lucy." She kissed her sister on the forehead.

Peter's relief was short-lived as bullets zipped around them. He turned and saw the Nazis and White Witch followers drawing closer. Those tanks couldn't be more than two hundred meters away.

He took in everything around him. Some of the Narnians launched arrows at the enemy. Others scattered and ran.

Many more lay on the ground motionless.

Peter closed his eyes, hating himself for what he was about to say.

"Narnians! Retreat!"

**XXXXX**

Skorzeny grinned in satisfaction as he watched the Narnians flee. Some formed up on the young kings and queens. Others simply ran off in a blind panic.

They pursued the enemy, gunning down as many as they could until they raced into a nearby forest. That's when _Gruppenfuhrer _Kempf called a halt.

Skorzeny hopped out of his Hanomag and strolled around the battlefield, taking in the bloody, torn corpses of centaurs, fauns, bears, elk, gryphons and other creatures. He frowned briefly as he noted that the kings and queens were not among the dead.

The crack of a rifle made him spin around. He spotted a group of four stormtroopers around a faun, one of them pointing a smoking Gewehr 98 at the creature.

"What the hell's going on?" a stocky _Oberscharfuhrer _stomped over to them.

"This thing was still alive," said the stormtrooper with the smoking rifle, jabbing the weapon at the now dead faun.

The _Oberscharfuhrer _groaned and shook his head. "Fool! Don't waste ammunition on something already dying. Use a damn bayonet instead."

The stormtrooper snapped to attention. _"Jawohl, Herr Oberscharfuhrer."_

After giving the _Oberscharfuhrer _apologetic looks, the four stormtroopers pulled out their bayonets and affixed them under their rifle barrels. They scoured the battlefield, skewering any Narnian still clinging to life.

"Oh yes. Lovely, lovely, lovely."

Skorzeny turned in the direction of Draut's excited voice. The goblin was bent over a cheetah, digging into its head with a knife. Skorzeny didn't even cringe at the squishing, ripping sound as Draut removed the cheetah's eyeball. He held it over his head, squealing in delight.

"That thing certainly is . . . enthusiastic about his little collection, isn't he?"

Skorzeny glanced over his shoulder to find _Gruppenfuhrer _Kempf approaching him.

"After what we did here today, we should be able to keep the little monster happy for quite a while." Skorzeny gazed at the dead Narnians around them.

"Mm." Kempf nodded. "A very decisive victory, wouldn't you say?"

"_Jawohl, Mein Herr._ Unfortunately, the kings and queens escaped."

"True, but it does not matter. We will kill them in good time, then Narnia will be ours."

"If that is the case, then may I volunteer the services of me and my men to lead the search for those crown-wearing brats and bring you their heads? Well, bring you their heads, and bring Draut their eyeballs."

Kempf flashed him a grin. "That will not be necessary, _Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer."_

Skorzeny cranked an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"We will not be tracking down the Narnian royals."

Skorzeny drew his head back in astonishment. "We are just going to let them get away?_"_

"In a manner of speaking. If we send our men out to track down the royals and their surviving subjects, they may decide to split up, or hide from us. We could waste days trying to find them. _Der Fuhrer _wants Narnia secured and our regiment sent through the British wardrobe as soon as possible. No. Instead, we will let them return to the one place where they will likely feel safe."

"I assume you mean Cair Paravel."

"_Ja. _They will want to go to their seat of power, to either cower in fear or to shore up their defenses against us."

"And we will just let them do that?"

"Come now, _Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer. _You saw the weapons these Narnians possess. They can do nothing to harm us."

"A few of our men were hit by arrows. And I'm sure at their castle they will have much larger weapons, like catapults."

"And how much of a danger will they be for us?"

"Medieval weaponry is not my specialty, but I do know someone who is an expert in that field." Skorzeny looked around and saw Maier a few meters away.

"Maier! Go find von Droth for me!"

"_Jawohl, Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer."_

Maier hurried off. Five minutes later, he returned with von Droth, who had a gleam in his eyes and blood on his Knight's War Axe. Skorzeny could only imagine what the Prussian _Obersharfuhrer _had been doing with that weapon.

"You wish to see me, _Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer?"_

"Yes. _Gruppenfuhrer _Kempf has need of your knowledge of medieval warfare."

Von Droth turned to Kempf, standing ramrod straight. "How may I assist you, _Herr Gruppenfuhrer?"_

"I need to know about some of the long-range weapons the Narnians may possess. Skorzeny here seems to think they might have catapults."

"They do, _Mein Herr. _Draut and some of his monsters have confirmed this."

Kempf nodded. "But these catapults only hurl rocks, correct? I doubt they will do anything to panzer armor."

"They may dent the armor, most likely scratch the paint. But nothing more. However, catapults were used to launch much more than rocks."

"Such as?"

"Primitive incendiary bombs," said von Droth. "Such as pots filled with Greek Fire or pitch. Our vehicles with open compartments, such as Hanomags and Kubelwagens, would be vulnerable to that sort of attack, provided one of those bombs could even hit it."

"Then they are not very accurate?"

"No, _Mein Herr_." Von Droth shook his head. "Especially against moving targets."

"And their range?"

"A few hundred meters."

"Any other long range weapons the Narnians possess?" Kempf asked.

"Ballistas, which are basically a very large crossbow. They can fire a bolt four hundred fifty to four hundred sixty meters."

Kempf softly chuckled and turned back to Skorzeny. "Do you hear that? A few hundred meters. Our field guns have a range of nearly _six miles_. We can sit back and easily pick off their catapults and ballistas, then send in our panzers and mechanized infantry. The royals and their remaining forces will all be in one place, which we will surround, and then destroy."

**XXXXX**

Peter fought a losing battle to keep his shoulders from slumping and his head from hanging. He kept telling himself he had to appear confident, in control. That's what was expected of a king.

But how could he feel that way? He kept thinking back to the rout they had suffered at the hands of the Nazis. Over half his forces had been killed. Susan had almost died! And what of Stonethunder, Moonbreeze and Stormrider? He hadn't seen any of them since the battle. His stomach clenched as he assumed the worst.

Peter, his siblings and their surviving forces had taken refuge in the forest during the night, moving out only when his scouts had determined the Nazis weren't pursuing them. Why they didn't baffled him. The Narnian army was reeling. Why not chase them down and finish them off?

Peter decided to just accept that one bright spot in an otherwise horrific defeat.

_It won't last long, though. _The Nazis and the remnants of the White Witch's army would certainly make for Cair Paravel. Then what? How could they stop tanks and artillery and machine guns?

Aslan could probably defeat them. But the great lion had told him he and the rest of Narnia would have to face this great challenge on their own.

_Why? _Anger flared inside him. Why would Aslan let this happen? Why would he leave them to face an enemy much more advanced than them? There were challenges, then there was setting up your followers for a massacre.

_Help us, Aslan. Please._

Peter gazed around him, hoping the great lion would suddenly appear.

He didn't.

Peter grunted, his anger growing.

Cair Paravel soon came into view. He sat up straighter on his horse as he took in the gleaming white marble towers and ramparts. From his vantage point, the massive castle looked formidable.

Then he thought of some of the sections of London turned to rubble by German bombs. Stone buildings that had stood for hundreds of years, pulverized. Surely whatever artillery the Germans brought with them could do the same to Cair Paravel.

Peter gazed around the open field leading up to the castle. Catapults and Ballistas ringed it. Earthen berms had sprung up, some sheltering troops and archers, other sprouting rows of long, sharpened stakes. General Oreius had certainly done a remarkable job preparing their defenses.

He doubted it would do any good against the Germans.

Peter and the others neared one of the catapults when a familiar-looking centaur trotted toward them.

"Your Majesties." General Oreius bowed to him and his siblings. "Are you well?"

"As well as can be expected." Peter grimaced. That was probably not the best thing to say.

Oreius frowned. "Some of the gryphons who returned ahead of you told us what happened at Hanaspoek's Grove. I took it upon myself to summon every available Narnian to aide in the defense of Cair Paravel. I've also deployed numerous scouts to give us ample warning before the _Naa-sees_ arrive."

"Good work, General." Peter bit his lip, wishing he could just hand command over to Oreius. Why shouldn't he? The centaur had a lot more experience at war than he did. Oreius also hadn't been the one to lead his troops into a trap.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. Another matter. Swiftwind and his party encountered more Sons of Adam and brought them here."

"Nazis?"

"Apparently not. They claim to be from the same country as you." Oreius swiveled his head to take in all four Pevensie children.

Susan's eyes widened. "You mean there are more people from Britain in Narnia?"

"It would seem so, Your Majesty. If what they say is true."

"Who are they?" asked Edmund.

"They say they are soldiers, but a special sort of soldier. 'Commandos' was the word they used to describe themselves."

A jolt of hope shot through Peter. British soldiers? In Narnia? And Commandos no less. His heartbeat picked up. He wondered how the British Army knew about the existence of the wardrobe and Narnia. In a split second, Peter decided it didn't matter. The British Army was here. Surely they'd have the sort of weapons to deal with tanks and artillery.

"Take us to them," Peter ordered.

He and his siblings dismounted from their horses and followed Oreius into the castle. The centaur took them to the great hall. The four gryphons inside, including Swiftwind, bowed when they entered. Peter gave them a quick nod as he laid his eyes on the seven men seated at one of the tables in the middle of the hall. One of them, tall and lean with a thin mustache, rose to his feet. Peter started toward him, then slowed, wrinkling his brow. Why did that man look so familiar?

"I don't believe it."

Peter turned around and saw Edmund standing there with his mouth wide open in astonishment. Surprise also radiated from Susan's face.

"What is it?"

"Peter, don't you know who that is?" Edmund pointed to the lean soldier. "That's David Niven."

"What?" _David Niven? The actor? _He turned back to the soldier, studying his face. Images of the film _Dawn Patrol _sprang into his mind.

_It can't be. _Then he remembered seeing some story in _The Times _about Niven and other actors joining the armed forces.

"Actually, it's Lieutenant Niven now. Might I assume you are the Pevensie children?"

"You know us?" asked Lucy.

"Oh yes. Professor Kirke filled us in on you lot before we set off."

"You've met Professor Kirke?" said Peter.

"That's right. He told us you might be in this world having some sort of adventure."

"That we have." Peter closed the distance between them and extended his hand. "High King Peter of Narnia." He then introduced his brother and sisters.

"Your Majesty." Niven bowed, then turned to the other soldiers. "Well don't just sit there, lads. We're British, for Heaven's sake. If anyone knows how to show proper respect for royalty, we do."

The soldiers got to their feet and bowed. Niven then introduced his men to Peter and his siblings.

"Mister Niven . . . I mean, Lieutenant," Peter began. "You're not going to believe this. The Germans. They're here in Narnia."

"Believe it or not, Your Majesty, we know all about it."

Peter listened in shock as Niven told him about Professor Kirke reporting to MI-6 that a group of Nazis had come through the wardrobe to scout the area around his estate.

"You mean . . ." Susan laid a hand over her chest. "You mean the Germans are not only invading Narnia. They plan to use the wardrobe to invade England?"

"That's what we believe, Miss . . . I mean, Your Majesty."

Peter swallowed, thinking of all the Nazi soldiers he saw at Hanaspoek's Grove, and imaging what they could do if set loose upon Oxford. Or London, which was about an hour's drive from Professor Kirke's estate.

"I think they're on their way." He told Niven and his men about their battle the other day, trying to keep from grimacing at how badly things had gone for them. When he got to the part of them hiding in the forest for the night, he couldn't look Niven in the eyes. The man wasn't an actor any more, but a soldier. A Commando. What must he think of him?

_Some silly boy playing king, getting his soldiers killed, and not able to come up with any plan to stop the Nazis._

Niven would be correct to think that of him.

"But now you're here," said Edmund. "Surely you've got some weapons that can blow up a German tank."

"Unfortunately, we don't. We we're sent here to recce Narnia for any signs of Germans. We're only carrying small arms, grenades, and Rowling there has our Bren Gun. None of which are useful against panzers."

"What about General Montgomery's lads?" Rowling suggested. "I saw a couple of them carrying Boys."

"Boys?" Lucy's face crinkled in puzzlement.

"That's the name for our anti-tank rifle," answered Sergeant-Major Pike. He then grunted. "Not a very good one in my opinion. The recoil's enough to dislocate your shoulder. The thing's only got an effective range of a hundred yards, and it won't do much good against the thicker armor of Jerry's newer panzers. You wouldn't happen to know what kind of panzers attacked your forces?"

Again, Peter's eyes flickered in all directions but the soldiers'. After a couple seconds of silence, he sighed. "I'm sorry, Sergeant-Major. To us, a German tank is a German tank."

Pike scowled momentarily.

"Still, those Boys would be better than nothing," Corporal Taylor chimed in.

"Perhaps," said Niven. "But the problem is General Montgomery's troops are at least a day-and-a-half's march from this castle. More likely two. I'd say Jerry will be here long before our boys."

"What about using the gryphons?"

Everyone, including Swiftwind and his gryphons, turned to Commander Fleming. He looked around at them before continuing. "What I mean is, they flew us all here. Why not send some of them back toward the wardrobe entrance? They can collect some Boys for us and bring them back here."

"How about they bring back more soldiers, too?" asked Edmund.

"We can only carry one human at a time," said Swiftwind. "And we already have a number of gryphons dedicated to scouting missions and attack from the air. Even if we were to do this, we could not bring a significant number of British soldiers to Cair Paravel before the _Naa-sees_ arrive."

"I'm afraid you're right, my winged friend." The corners of Niven's mouth twitched.

"Even so," Susan said. "The more people we have here with modern weapons, the better."

Peter stared at his sister for a couple seconds before turning back to Niven. "I think we should try it, Lieutenant. Susan's right. Every soldier we can bring here with a rifle or machine gun, or especially those Boys, it'll give us that much more of an edge against the Germans."

Niven's jaw tightened. He slowly bobbed his head back and forth, as though thinking. He then took a breath. "Very well. We'll go with that. Commander." He turned to Fleming. "Would you be good enough to head back to General Montgomery and present him with our plan? I think it best we stay off the R/T, in case Jerry might be listening in."

"Can do."

"Swiftwind, take him," Peter ordered. "And let him have his weapons back. That goes for all of them."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The Commandos collected their weapons and gear, which had been placed on a table at the far end of the great hall. After Fleming and Swiftwind departed, Niven addressed them.

"Sergeant-Major Pike is right about one thing. The Boys aren't the most effective anti-tank weapons we have. But there's no way we can get our tanks or artillery through Professor Kirke's wardrobe. And if we can't knock out those panzers, not only are we in trouble here, but they'll likely roll over General Montgomery's defenses, and send their infantry through the wardrobe."

"In other words, Sir," said Rowling, "We need to find some way to stop those panzers with whatever's here in Narnia."

"Exactly, Corporal." Niven looked to the kings and queens. "I know your weaponry is similar to what they had in the Middle Ages, but there must be something you have that we can use as a sort of an improvised explosive. Gunpowder, perhaps?"

"No, sorry." Peter shook his head. "Gunpowder hasn't been discovered in Narnia."

Niven snorted and chewed on his lip. "What about fuel oil? Surely you use that for lamps or cooking."

"We do." It was General Oreius who answered. "Some of it, or derivatives of it, we use to create fire projectiles for our catapults."

"Mm." Niven frowned. "Unfortunately, General, catapults aren't a very accurate weapon, especially against moving targets."

"I would agree with that."

"So what do we do if we can't hit their tanks with our catapults?" Edmund sounded a bit frustrated.

Niven shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "We have to find some way to pour it on them. If we can get some of that oil into an open hatch or a viewing port and ignite it, that tank would be finished."

"I doubt the Germans will send their panzers up to the gates of the castle like in an old-fashioned siege," Pike pointed out. "That'd be our only way to dump any kind of oil on them."

Peter turned his head, face scrunched. Damn the luck. Finally someone had come up with a way to stop a German tank with Narnian technology, and they had no way to implement it. Sergeant-Major Pike was right. The Germans would never let their panzers get close to the walls of Cair Paravel, where the Narnians could drop or pour something from above . . .

_Above . . ._

Peter's eyes widened. He whipped his head back to Niven. "The gryphons."

"What?"

"The gryphons." He looked around at the remaining ones in the great hall. "Maybe they can carry the oil in barrels or pots and drop it on the German tanks, like a dive bomber. Then we can use a flaming arrow or something to ignite it."

Peter noticed Niven's face light up. A trace of a smile formed on his lips. "I think you're on to something there, Your Majesty."

The compliment from the actor-turned-soldier created an airy feeling in his chest.

"If this will help defeat these _Naa-see_ butchers, then we gladly accept this task," said one of the gryphons. The others nodded emphatically.

"Heh!" Sergeant Ladamire barked. "Blimey, who needs the RAF for air support when you've got gryphons?"

"That still leaves one problem," said Pike.

"What's that, Sarge?" asked Rowling.

"Jerry's artillery. Even if we do manage to keep their tanks and infantry from reaching Cair Paravel, they can just sit back and use their big guns to pound this place into rubble."

The airy feeling in Peter's chest deflated. His chin quivered. No, no, no. Just when he finally saw a glimmer of hope, Pike had to dash it.

_There has to be a way to stop their artillery. Think, damn you. Think._

He clenched his teeth. He'd already thought of using gryphons to bomb the Germans tanks with oil. Maybe he could do the same with their artillery. But did he have enough gryphons for both tasks, as well as ferrying British soldiers to Cair Paravel? What if he divided his aerial forces so much they didn't destroy all the tanks and artillery pieces? How well did the Germans protect their artillery?

"Lieutenant. What sort of guards would the Germans have for their artillery?"

"A handful of sentries. Probably a machine gun nest covering each battery."

Peter nodded. "I think I may have an idea for dealing with their artillery, though it might be risky."

Niven grinned. "We're Commandos, Your Majesty. In our line of work, risk comes with the territory."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	11. Chapter 11

_Is this really going to work? _

Peter snorted to himself. Now was not the time for doubts, not when his special attack force was sneaking its way through the woods. Still, he couldn't help it. Despite David Niven and the other Commandos agreeing to it, it was still very risky. Foolhardy, even.

But what choice did they have? So long as the Nazis had their artillery, they could destroy Cair Paravel at their leisure. They had to start taking risks, otherwise everything they had fought for, the peace and prosperity they had just begun to build in Narnia, would all be lost, and this world would enter a new dark age under the rule of that screaming lunatic in Berlin.

Peter bit his lip as he and the others tread carefully through the woods. Aslan's last words to him echoed in his mind, about this being a test to determine how great their desire was for peace and freedom.

Could that be why the great lion wasn't around now? Did he want to see how they stood on their own against a powerful enemy? Did he want to see how he and his siblings faired as kings and queens?

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps this was as much a test for him and his siblings as it was for all of Narnia. Monarchs by nature had to be good leaders. What kind of rulers would he and Edmund and Susan and Lucy be if they turned to Aslan to solve all their problems?

_We will succeed. We have to. We have no choice._

He looked around at the group. Along with David Niven and his Commandos, a dozen fauns and half-a-dozen cheetahs accompanied them. Peter wouldn't have minded having a few centaurs along. They were some of the best warriors in all of Narnia. Unfortunately, their large size, a great advantage in battle, would be a disadvantage in a mission that required stealth. Therefore, they remained behind at Cair Paravel with his siblings and the rest of Narnia's defenders, which now included additional British soldiers. Not many, though. Despite the gryphons' best efforts, they had only been able to ferry about twenty soldiers from General Montgomery's lines to the castle. Half of them carried heavy weapons like Bren Guns, Vickers machine guns, mortars and those Boys anti-tank rifles. The rest had a mix of Lee-Enfield rifles and Tommy Guns. Given the number of Germans they faced, he wondered how much of a difference those British reinforcements would make.

_They won't make any at all if we can't knock out that artillery._

The same went for the tanks. Peter prayed that crazy idea of theirs to stop them worked as well.

They continued through the woods for another five minutes when a brown and black-feathered owl swooped down on them. It landed in front of Peter and bowed.

"You Majesty. I have located the big fire tubes of the, ah, the _Naa-Zees."_

"Excellent work," Niven said as he walked over to them. "Where are they?"

Peter called over one of the fauns who had a hand-drawn map of the area. When the owl told of the location of the German artillery, Niven marked them down with a charcoal pencil. There were three batteries, four guns each. One self-propelled, the other two regular field guns. All spread out along a two-mile line. Security seemed rather light. Four Germans and a couple White Witch followers for each battery. No machine gun nests, thank God.

Peter started to come up with a plan, then stopped. He remembered something his father said, about how the best leaders delegated their authority and had faith in their subordinates.

Standard medieval warfare he could do. One army here, one army there, and have at it. But commando warfare was an entirely different sort of fighting, one the Narnians hadn't schooled him or his siblings in.

"So, Lieutenant." He looked to Niven. "How should we go about this?"

The actor-turned-soldier nodded, then called out to the rest of their group. "Right, gather around. Here's what we're going to do."

**XXXXX**

Susan had to fight to keep from trembling as she walked the battlements of Cair Paravel. Every so often her hand rubbed the base of her throat, right where that bullet had gone through. Fear coiled around her insides as she remembered the numbing cold that had gripped her body, the wet, bubbling sensation of the blood filling her throat, the struggle of trying to breathe.

The sheer terror of imminent death.

_I'm too young to die. _At times, she felt all of them were too young for this. Fighting wars, ruling an entire world. For God's sake, they were all just school children.

Susan halted and placed her hand on one of the ramparts, barely feeling the breeze that played with her dark hair. The urge to throw down her bow and quiver overwhelmed her. She wanted to run from Cair Paravel, run back to the wardrobe, run back to London, where it was safe.

_Safe?_ Where on her world was safe any more? Perhaps America. They were still neutral. But for how long? And good luck getting there with U-boats prowling the Atlantic and torpedoing every ship they came across.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She couldn't run even if she wanted to. Besides, how could she just abandon her brothers, or Lucy, or Aslan, or any of the friends they had made since coming to Narnia.

The thought she may still die chilled her. But the thought of leaving her family and friends to die, to let the Nazis conquer both Narnia and England, she knew, would fill her with a guilt she doubted she could live with.

Steeling herself, she continued her walk around the parapets. She soon came upon a British soldier crouched behind one of the ramparts, staring out behind the castle walls. He turned to Susan as she approached.

"Miss." He winced. "Sorry. I mean, Your Majesty."

"Quite all right." Susan smiled at him, studying his face. Round, smooth, boyish. Rather handsome. He couldn't be more than eighteen, just a few years older than her. "How are you faring up here?"

"Oh, um, just fine, Mi . . . Your Majesty."

Susan caught his eyes flickering up and down as he stared at her. A warm feeling grew inside her.

"That's good. What's your name?"

"Oh! Chaffee. Private Chaffee."

"Susan." She smiled at him, and his smile grew wider. "So, have you been in the army long?"

"About six months now. Wasn't about to sit in a school room, what with Jerry bombing us every bloody day. So I joined up. Mind you, I never expected to be sent to some fairy tale land to fight Nazis and whatever strange buggers they teamed up with. Or, um, fighting alongside a queen." Again, he flashed her a smile.

Susan also smiled back. She knew she should probably be doing something other than flirting with a young soldier. But it did help get her mind off almost dying, and what might happen once the Germans reached Cair Paravel.

"So where are you from?"

"Brighton."

"Oh, I love it there. I remember going on holiday there when I was twelve and . . ."

A sharp, distant whistle interrupted Susan. Her chest clenched. After Hanaspoek's Grove, she knew exactly what that sound meant.

"Get down!" She dropped to her knees behind the rampart. Chaffee did likewise.

Thunder split the air. Tremors raced through Cair Paravel. Susan gritted her teeth as another explosion rocked the castle's foundations. She dared peek over the rampart. Several smoking craters pockmarked the ground, some close to the line of catapults and ballistas. To her left, smoke poured out the ruins of a tower.

She looked back at Private Chaffee, who frowned and said, "I suppose that's Jerry's way of saying hello."

**XXXXX**

Peter felt anger lines crease his face, growing more pronounced with each burst of artillery fire. He checked the others around him. Niven, Fleming, Taylor, the four fauns and two cheetahs. He willed them to move faster through the woods. Each boom meant another shell screaming toward Cair Paravel. How many had hit their defensive line? How many had hit the castle itself? Were Susan, Edmund and Lucy all right?

_Come on, come on._

They wound their way through the trees and bushes. The thumps of artillery fire continued. Peter's fear and anger grew with each blast.

Finally, they spotted them. Through the trees, four SIG 33 self-propelled guns sat in a clearing. Orange and black flashes erupted from the barrels of two of the weapons. Peter scowled. More shells bound for Cair Paravel.

He looked back at Niven and the others. They took cover behind trees and bushes. Peter wanted to yell at them to charge forward and kill the Germans before they fired any more shells.

_Trust Niven. Trust his plan._

He forced himself to kneel behind a bush and looked toward David Niven. The Commando leader stared at his watch, then held up a finger.

_One minute._

Peter held his breath. By now the other groups would be in position, ready to attack the other two German batteries. _At least I hope they are. _Niven had said he wanted to make this a coordinated attack. The Germans no doubt had radios. They couldn't just attack one battery and risk the other two being alerted.

The big 15cm guns of the SIG 33s boomed again and again. Peter's hand flexed on the hilt of his sword. This had to be the longest minute ever. He turned back to Niven, fighting off the urge to holler at him, "How much longer?"

Niven raised five fingers in the air. _Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one. _He then pointed forward.

The fauns hurried toward the clearing, bows and arrows in hand. They got within ten feet of the treeline, pulled back on their bows, and let go. Arrows shot through the air in a blur. One buried itself in the back of a German sentry. He collapsed in a heap. Another arrow went through a German's throat. A third German flailed and fell backwards, an arrow sticking out of his chest. The last German sentry cried out as an arrow struck his side. Unfortunately, he did not go down. He yelled something, a warning no doubt.

One of the fauns nocked an arrow and fired. This one hit the German in the chest.

A goblin and a wolf hurried toward the treeline. The cheetahs darted past Peter and jumped into the clearing. One rammed into the goblin and took it to the ground. The other leapt on the wolf and slashed and wrestled with it.

"Forward!" Niven shouted.

Peter drew his sword and charged out of the woods. He stared at the SIG 33s. They continued to fire, their crews apparently unaware of the attack.

_Good._

He, the Commandos and the fauns never broke stride as they neared the self-propelled guns. While the metal shields of the SIG 33s covered the front and sides, the rear was completely open.

German crews continued to load shells and fire them with machine-like precision. Peter and the others were about twenty meters from the first SIG 33 when one of the Germans manning it spotted them just as he and two others were picking up a shell.

Two fauns fired arrows. Niven, Fleming and Taylor opened up with their Thompsons. Short bursts, not like the long blasts Peter had seen in those American gangster movies. The Germans jerked and twisted and dropped onto the chassis.

One gun down.

The group hurried toward a second SIG 33. Niven and Taylor pulled out grenades and flung them at it. Both ball-shaped objects bounced onto the rear the chassis and exploded. Two Germans tumbled off it. When Peter and the others reached it, they found the other two Germans also dead, lying beside the gun.

By now the remaining crews had spotted them. One German yanked a pistol from his hip holster and fired a couple rounds from behind the metal shield. Both missed. Niven and Fleming let loose with their Thompsons. Bullets pinged and sparked off the metal shields. One German stumbled into the opening, clutching a bleeding shoulder. Corporal Taylor finished him off with a short burst. The German with the pistol reached around the side of the shield and fired blindly. Every shot missed.

Peter climbed onto the chassis. He found the German crouched behind the shield, shoving another magazine into his pistol. He looked up just as Peter ran his sword into his mid-section. The German's eyes bulged. Peter withdrew his sword, blood covering the blade. The German slumped to his side and did not move.

Another German hurried past him, jumped off the chassis and ran away.

The last one stayed, a knife clutched in his hand. He fixed Peter with a cold stare and lunged forward. Peter dodged the strike. The German lashed out. Peter blocked the blow with the flat side of his sword. He jabbed with his left fist. The gauntlet banged off the German's cheek. He grunted and stumbled away, still holding the knife. When he righted himself, he stared at Peter, teeth bared. The German unleashed a war cry and rushed forward. He swung the knife. Peter dodged it and stepped to the side. The German stumbled past him. Peter slashed up with his sword up, cutting a deep bloody gash in the German's side. He collapsed on all fours, trembled, and fell spread-eagle on the chassis.

Peter swung his head in all directions, looking for more Germans to kill.

That's when he realized how quiet it had gotten.

He jumped down from the SIG 33 and held his breath. All the other self-propelled guns sat silently. No smoke or flame erupted from their tubes. No shells screamed through the air on their way to Cair Paravel.

Peter lowered his sword and let out a long, relieved breath. _We did it. We really did it._

He sheathed his sword and strode toward the SIG 33 where Niven, Fleming and Taylor stood. To his left, he noticed two Germans on their knees, hands on their heads, being guarded by two fauns.

_Never expected to take prisoners._

"Well done, Lieutenant. All of you." He nodded to Niven and his men.

"You as well, Your Majesty," Niven smiled. "Your me . . . er, forces performed admirably. Now, let's put these things out of action for good." He nodded to the SIG 33 behind him.

Peter followed the Commandos as they headed over to the dead German sentries. They knelt beside each corpse, plucked every stick grenade they could find from them, and walked back to one of the guns. Taylor opened the breech. Niven pulled the pin from the bottom of the grenade and shoved it inside the gun. Taylor slammed the breech shut.

"Fire in the hole!" Niven shouted as he, Fleming and Taylor jumped off the chassis.

Seconds later, a muffled thump came from inside the gun.

Peter's brow furrowed. He continued to stare at the gun. Was that it? He expected something more dramatic. Instead the SIG 33 sat there, looking the same as it had before Niven stuffed the grenade inside it.

"Are you sure that worked?" Peter nodded to the gun.

Niven looked to him. "Don't worry. It may not have been a big explosion, but it was enough to wreck the firing mechanisms in there. If the gun's not working, then this thing is twelve tons of useless scrap."

Peter said nothing, just nodded. It seemed almost implausible that a little grenade could render such a large gun useless.

_But I suppose if you stuck it in just the right place . . ._

Peter followed the Commandos to the next SIG 33, where they repeated the process. As they headed for the third self-propelled gun, Peter lifted his head, listening for any distant thunderclaps from the German batteries further away. He heard none. Joy and relief filled him. The other groups must have succeeded in their attacks as well. Finally they could claim a victory.

_A victory._ They still had a ways to go to defeat the Nazis and the White Witch's followers. Even with their artillery support gone, the enemy still had probably a thousand soldiers, along with tanks and other combat vehicles. And those tanks concerned Peter the most. Would their plan to dump oil on them and ignite it really stop them all? Wouldn't some survive? Then what? A couple of the newly arrived British soldiers had those Boys anti-tank rifles, but Niven's Commandos didn't appear confident in their ability to knock out tanks. If the oil failed and the anti-tank rifles failed, what did that leave them with?

He watched the Commandos climb onto the third SIG 33. Taylor opened the breech of the gun. Niven pulled out one of the German stick grenades.

That's when the idea hit him.

"Wait!" He raised his hand and hurried over to the Commandos.

Niven's face scrunched up in a baffled expression. He removed his finger from the pin. "What is it?"

"This gun. Can't we use it against the German tanks?"

Niven stared at Peter few a few seconds, then glanced at the gun, then to Taylor and Fleming.

"Lieutenant, look at the size of this gun." Peter pointed at it. "This could surely blow up those tanks."

"Artillery isn't well suited for destroying tanks, You Majesty. A direct hit would be more by luck than by design."

"Unless we got close to them," said Fleming.

"Well of course." Niven looked to him. "But this thing is not a tank. It's just a piece of artillery mounted to a tank chassis. It has nowhere near the armor or the maneuverability of a German panzer. Nor does it have a turret. All our shots will have to be straight on."

"But it does have that gun." Fleming pointed to it. "And you have to admit, we're a lot likely to knock out a tank with this thing than by dumping oil on it."

Niven let out a long sigh. "Trying to use this thing like a tank will risky, maybe even suicidal."

"The same could be said for what we just did to take out all this artillery," Peter noted. "But it worked out well, didn't it?"

Niven worked his jaw back and forth, his brow furrowed in thought.

"I know the Commandos receive training to drive tanks and fire artillery," Fleming said. "I read it when I was working on a plan to use captured German tanks against them if Jerry ever invaded England."

"We only received crash courses in those things," said Niven noted.

"Perhaps, but you are capable of doing it."

Niven chewed on his lower lip, his eyes flickering between Fleming and Peter. He then turned his head and stared at the gun.

"I imagine using this would be a lot more effective than barrels of lamp oil."

**XXXXX**

Skorzeny gazed at the SS trooper in the back of the Stower 40 field car, who spoke harshly into the radio telephone unit, demanding someone, anyone, respond. From the frustrated look on his face, no one apparently did.

"I'm sorry, _Mein Herr," _the trooper said to _Gruppenfuhrer_ Kempf. "I cannot raise any of our batteries."

Kempf scowled. "Why won't they respond? What could have happened to them that they'd stop firing?"

"Perhaps some of the Narnians attacked them," Skorzeny offered.

"Impossible!" Kempf spun to face him, anger lines etched in his face. Skorzeny was sure it was a look that made most subordinates tremble in fear.

He didn't even flinch.

"The Narnians are primitive," Kempf growled. "We crushed them, broke their spirit. Why would they even think to challenge us?"

"With all do respect, _Mein Herr_, the Narnians are fighting for their country, their very survival. If there is one thing we learned in Russia, it is that when a man's native soil is threatened, he will fight like a cornered animal, take risks he normally would not. That could be the case here. And as for the primitive weapons the Narnians use, the Indian tribes in United States mainly carried bows and arrows and hatchets, but gave an American army armed with rifles and cannons all sorts of headaches."

Kempf's nostrils flared and his shoulders rose and fell with deliberate breaths. Skorzeny stood his ground, hands behind his back, wondering if the _Gruppenfuhrer _was taking his advice seriously, or if he thought a lowly _Hauptsturmfuhrer_ had no right questioning him. If Kempf tore into him, so be it. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been dressed down by a superior officer.

Kempf didn't speak for a full minute, just scowled. Finally, he let out a snort. "Well something happened to our batteries to make them stop firing. Skorzeny. Take your squad and a few of the goblin's freaks and find out what happened to our artillery."

"_Jawohl. _And what of our assault on Cair Paravel?"

Kempf groaned. "We may not have our artillery, but we still have our panzers, and an entire regiment of soldiers. I think we've thrown enough shells at the Narnians to have softened them up. Therefore, we shall storm the castle immediately."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	12. Chapter 12

Almost a full minute passed without the sound of German shells shrieking through the air and exploding.

_Peter and the other must have gotten them, _Susan thought. Her relief was tempered by worry. Was Peter all right?

_He has to be. Please let him be._

Holding her breath, she poked her head over the rampart. Smoking craters pockmarked the field between the castle and the woods, a few of them blotting out parts of the Narnian trenches. Pain gripped her heart, thinking of the troops whose lives had been snuffed out in one, violent second.

Smoke wafted up to the towers of Cair Paravel, carrying with it the odor of burning wood. Susan's eyes shifted to the line of catapults near the castle walls. German artillery had reduced most of them to smoldering piles of kindling. She then gazed around the castle itself. Her throat clenched as she counted eight holes marring the gleaming walls and towers of Cair Paravel.

_At least the Germans can't shell us any more thanks to Peter and the others._

But the Germans had done more than enough damage with their big guns. Even with them out of commission, she and the rest of Narnia still had the German tanks to worry about.

Susan swallowed, staring out at the woods beyond the castle, wondering when the German troops and tanks would appear, wondering if their desperate plan with the gryphons and the oil would actually work.

Wondering if Peter's assault on the German artillery only delayed the inevitable.

_Have faith. It has to work. _She had no desire to see Narnia suffer the same fate as so many other countries throughout Europe.

She continued staring at the woods, Edmund and Lucy at her side, waiting, wondering, hoping . . .

"Look!" Lucy's arm shot up, index finger pointing forward.

Dark squat shapes burst from the trees. Dozens of them. Armored cars and half-tracks, many loaded with German infantry. And of course, the tanks were mixed in with them.

A chill went up Susan's spine. She shook it off. She couldn't afford to give in to her fears now.

"Edmund." She turned to her brother.

He nodded and bent down, picking up a pole with a large yellow pennant tied to it. He raised it over his head and waved it back and forth.

A swarm of gryphons leapt off the battlements, each one carrying a large barrel of fuel oil. They soared over the field and dove toward the enemy.

Steady crackles filled the air. Tracers streaked up from the German vehicles. Lucy gasped as two gryphons spun wildly and fell to the ground. The barrels they had carried tumbled through the air. Small curtains of oil splashed onto the field, far from their intended targets.

The surviving gryphons twisted and dodged the flurry of tracers. Susan caught a couple puffs of smoke and dull thumps erupting from the Narnian trenches. British mortars. Seconds later two geysers of dirt exploded twenty yards from the German vehicles. More tracers cut through the air, this time from the trenches. Bren Guns and Vickers machine guns. She saw sparks shoot off the hoods of armored cars where bullets had struck.

Still they kept coming.

Several of the tanks stopped. Flashes of orange and black burst from their slender barrels. Thunderclaps followed an instant later. Fountains of dirt shot into the air near the Narnian trenches.

Another gryphon fell from the sky. Another. Susan's heart hammered against her chest. Fear-fueled tremors gripped her legs as she watched the other gryphons weave through the streams of tracer fire. How many more would fall? Would any of them get through? Had they condemned those creatures to death?

Hundreds of figures suddenly burst out of the distant woods. Germans and followers of the White Witch. The British soldiers shifted their fire from the armored cars to the enemy soldiers. The roar of gunfire drowned out the whistles from arrows and Ballista bolts launched by faun and centaur archers. Thin dark streaks of arrows mingled with yellow tracers. More than a few Germans and goblins and Minotaurs and wolves fell dead. The tanks halted again and fired. One round exploded in the trenches. Susan's stomach lurched as two fauns flipped end over end through the air and crashed into the ground.

A gryphon flew over a tank and dumped its oil all over the steel gray armor. More oil fell on a second tank. A third.

"Edmund! Now!" Susan ordered.

Her brother hefted another banner, this one with a red pennant, and waved it.

Susan removed an arrow from her quiver, a cloth wrapped around it just behind the tip. She stuck it into a fiery pot, as did four faun archers.

She glanced around. All over Cair Paravel, archers appeared on the battlements, marked by their flaming arrows.

Another gryphon dropped its oil on a tank. Another.

"FIRE!"

Susan and the other archers let their arrows fly.

**XXXXX**

_Well this is not good._

Skorzeny frowned as he hid behind a tree, observing the SIG 33 battery. He was glad he decided to stop the Hanomags a mile from the battery and proceed the rest of the way on foot. The engines would have likely alerted the enemy forces who now had control of the self-propelled guns. Enemy forces that now included . . .

"British soldiers." Thalberg grunted as he watched them through the scope of his sniper rifle. "How did British soldiers end up in Narnia?"

"No doubt the same way we did," Skorzeny answered. "Through a wardrobe. And since the children who rule this world are British, they likely got word to London to send them some help."

He watched the British soldiers, along with one of the kings and a few fauns, milling around one of the SIG 33s. A scowl formed on his face. This was a complication they could do without. How many soldiers had the British sent through their wardrobe? What weapons did they possess?

_It can only be infantry weapons. _Unlike the wardrobe back at the secret SS base in _Thuringer Wald_, the one in Risinghurst was too small to allow tanks or artillery to pass through. So no matter how many British had come to Narnia, the SS still had the advantage in firepower.

The three British soldiers disappeared behind the armored shields of the SIG 33. Seconds later, the engine roared to life. The self-propelled gun jumped forward, jerked right, jerked left, then jerked back to the right. It then rolled over to another SIG 33 and stopped beside it. The British soldiers jumped off the chassis and were joined by the king and the fauns. Skorzeny grunted as he watched them carry shells from one SIG 33 to the other.

"Bastard English." Von Droth bared his teeth as he looked to him. "They're planning to use our own gun against us."

"It would seem so." Skorzeny nodded as the British soldiers and the King carried another shell to the SIG 33 they had just driven. Concern festered inside him. Were there more British soldiers at the other batteries? Would they use those guns, _German _guns, on his fellow SS troopers? Even two or three captured guns could tip the balance in the favor of the British and the Narnians.

_Well we can't let that happen._

Skorzeny turned to his squad, which consisted of Thalberg, von Droth, Maier, six goblins, three wolves and three ravens. "You." His gaze fell on one of the ink black birds. "Return to our vehicles. Tell Heigl and Egger to head for this position at once. Then fly to _Gruppenfuhrer _Kempf and tell him to send more troops to our batteries. Understood?"

"Yes," croaked the raven before it flew off.

Skorzeny turned back to the SIG 33 battery. One of the British soldiers and a pair of fauns hauled the shells between the self-propelled guns. He recalled what he knew about the SIG 33. They could hold a total of 25 high-explosive shells, each one weighing 37 pounds. How many more did the British and their allies need to move before their SIG 33 was fully loaded? They couldn't afford to let them drive off with that gun. They'd have to attack. Unfortunately, they couldn't shoot at them from the cover of the forest. The British could use that SIG 33 to blast them to pieces. The alternative, though, would be risky.

_Then again, most battles are usually won by the side that takes the most risks._

"Thalberg." He crouched beside the sniper. "Take out that Englishmen carrying the shell. His death will put his comrades into shock for a few seconds. And before they recover, we'll charge out of the woods and attack."

**XXXXX**

Niven grimaced as he carried another shell across the chassis and handed it down to Corporal Taylor. Vises clamped down on his arms and legs and back. Each shell had to weigh around forty pounds. That may not sound like much to, say, those muscular strongmen he'd seen at carnivals during his youth, the ones who could lift several hundred pounds. But forty pounds of metal, picked up and lugged again and again, did take its toll eventually.

"Got it, Sir." Taylor said as he took the shell and started over to their newly liberated SIG 33.

Niven exhaled loudly and mopped his brow. Next to him, a pair of fauns lowered another shell to a second pair. Across the way, Commander Fleming and High King Peter prepared to receive the shells.

He added up their booty in his head. Two more shells would give their SIG 33 a full load of 25. Then they could head toward Cair Paravel and –

A sharp crack split the air. Niven tensed. The instant he recognized it as a rifle, Taylor's head snapped back. A gusher of red blasted out the back of his skull.

"Taylor!" Niven hollered as the Corporal dropped the shell he was carrying and fell onto his back. Niven slammed his palm onto the armored shield of the SIG 33, suppressing the urge to jump off the vehicle and go to Taylor's side. There was nothing he could do for the poor lad.

The two fauns carrying the other shell dropped it and sprinted behind the other SIG 33. Niven peeked around the shield as much as he dared. It had to be a sniper that killed Taylor. He'd be damned if he'd give that blighter another target.

Figures charged out of the woods. Men in green and brown fatigues. Nazis. Goblins, wolves and even a couple ravens joined them. They split into two groups, one going to the left, the other to the right.

"They're trying to flank us!" he hollered. "Don't let them get near the guns!"

Niven snatched his Thompson submachine gun and darted to the other side of the chassis. He poked his gun around the shield, sighted one of the Germans and fired.

Missed.

The German snapped up his MP40 and fired a burst. None of the bullets reached the SIG 33.

_Dammit. Too far away. _He sneered and looked across to another SIG 33 roughly fifty meters away. He swallowed as he took in all that open ground, and thought of the sniper in the woods.

_You'll never make it._

_You have to try._

Nausea lashed his stomach. He sucked down one deep breath after another. Images of his wife Primmie flashed through his head.

_I love you._

Holding his breath, he leaped off the SIG 33 and started running. He bent over and took three steps before suddenly swerving left. Four steps. Swerve right. Two steps. Left. He continued the zigzag pattern, denying the sniper a good shot.

Ten meters from the SIG 33, he dove to the ground. Something cracked over his head. It had to be the sniper.

_Not today, Jerry._

He crawled the rest of the way to the SIG 33. Once he reached the rear of the vehicle, he got to his knees. Something moved behind him. He whipped his head around and noticed two of the fauns behind him, bows and arrows at the ready.

"Thanks for the company." He flashed them a grin, then looked around the SIG 33.

The enemy continued their charge. A wolf led the way. No more than twenty meters away. Niven raised his Thompson and fired two short bursts. A high-pitched yelp came from the animal. It rolled across the ground and came to rest in a heap.

Two more bursts took down a sword-wielding goblin. The fauns let loose with their arrows. Both missed.

The German fired his MP40. Niven ducked behind the SIG 33. Two red blotches appeared on the chest of one of the fauns. It spasmed and collapsed.

"Riewik! No!" the remaining faun cried out.

Niven clenched his jaw. His eyes flickered from the dead faun to the living one, whose eyes glistened.

"No time to mourn now. We have to stop the Nazis and those other monsters."

He checked around the SIG 33. A goblin just disappeared from sight around the front of the vehicle.

"They're coming around the other side!" Niven warned.

The faun dropped its bow and whipped out a sword. It let out a war cry and charged forward.

That's when Niven heard a phlegm-coated roar. A goblin rushed toward the faun. Both swung their swords. Metal clanged on metal. They both drew back their weapons and swung again.

Niven raised his Thompson, aiming for the goblin's head.

A black streak shot past corner of his eye. Something slashed his right hand. He hollered in pain and dropped his Thompson. Something dark swatted at him. Wings? Gritting his teeth against the pain, Niven took a swipe at his attacker. He glimpsed a beak, talons and black beady eyes and a long beak.

He was being attacked by a bloody raven.

Niven slapped at the bird. It squawked and tumbled away, bouncing onto the ground. The bird let an angry caw and righted itself.

Niven went to his hip holster and drew his Webley revolver.

The raven launched itself at him.

He pulled the trigger twice. The first round missed. The second round blew open the bird's chest. It dropped to the ground.

Something moved out the corner of his eye. The goblin scrambled onto the chassis, its blood-stained sword raised above its head.

Of the faun, Niven saw no sign.

The goblin let out another unearthly cry and charged. Niven brought up his Webley and fired. Missed!

The goblin leaped off the chassis.

Niven fired two more times and dove to the side. He hit the ground a second before the goblin. Pushing himself onto his side, he saw the spindly, misshapen creature roll over and clutch its bloody side.

Niven leveled his revolver. _Crack!_

A dark red hole appeared on the goblin's forehead. It collapsed onto its back.

He exhaled, then shunted his relief to the side. Now wasn't the time to relax. Jerry and his monster friends were still out there.

Niven started to rise to his feet when he saw the faun crawl out from behind the SIG 33, a blood-soaked hand pressed against its bare stomach.

"Don't worry, friend. We'll get you fixed up." He bit his lip. Fixing up the poor creature out here would be difficult since Taylor had been the squad medic. And now he was dead.

_Taylor's dead. _It still didn't seem –

Something rushed at the injured faun. Niven looked up just in time to see an axe flash through the air. He flinched at the dull, fleshy _thud_ of the pendulum-shaped blade burying itself into the faun's back. The small creature's eyes widened, then glazed over. It dropped to its stomach, spread-eagled, unmoving.

Niven took in the man over the dead faun. Stout with dark hair. He couldn't help but wonder why a German would use a medieval weapon instead of his MP40.

The German looked to him. The corners of his mouth twitched into something resembling a smile, and a wicked one at that. Niven glimpsed the insignia tab on the German's collar. Twin lightning bolts. SS. That didn't surprise him. For a mission like this, Hitler would want his best troops.

Then he noticed those dark green eyes. They possessed a malicious spark to them. The eyes of a man who enjoyed killing.

Enjoyed it a lot.

The German's evil smile grew as he stepped toward him.

Niven squeezed his Webley revolver. He'd already used his six shots. No time to reload. He then spotted his Thompson lying a few feet away. He doubted he could get to it before the German reached him. There was his Fairbairn-Sykes Fighting Knife. But in a fight of knife versus battleaxe, Niven knew who the winner would likely be.

He slid backwards on his buttocks. The German continued toward him, not too fast. It almost seemed like he was savoring the moment.

Niven glanced right, at the goblin he'd shot. Its sword lay by its side . . . not more than two feet from him.

He rolled across the ground. Something swished through the air and thumped against the ground. It had to be the axe. Niven snatched up the dead goblin's sword and sprang to his feet. He held the blade out in front of him.

The German yanked his axe blade out of the ground and turned to him. Did his grin widen even more?

Niven tightened his grip on the sword. He tried to recall all the swashbuckling tips Douglas Fairbanks, Junior had given him when they worked together on _The Prisoner of Zenda._ He prayed it would be enough to get him through this fight alive.

The German rushed forward and swung his axe. Niven jumped to the side, dodging it. He slashed with his sword. The German deflected it with his axe blade. Niven stumbled back a couple steps. The German advanced and took another swing. Niven brought around his sword and blocked the blow. Tremors raced up both arms. The German quickly drew back his axe and swung again. Niven barely blocked it, gritting his teeth as a quake rocked his body. He tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling and thrust out his sword. The German easily deflected it. He then stabbed out with the pike on the top of the axe. Niven spun to the side. The blade snagged on his tunic. He used his forearm to knock the axe away. Part of his tunic was torn open. Hot needles pricked at his breastbone, followed by a wet feeling.

The German rammed into his shoulder. Niven tumbled to the ground. Fear shot through him as the sword fell from his grasp. He whipped around and looked up.

The German aimed a toothy grin at him and raised the battleaxe over his head.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	13. Chapter 13

Niven held his breath. He had to time this just ri-

The German brought down his battleaxe.

Niven rolled to his left. He felt the thud of the blade striking the ground, and the rush of air on his back.

He pushed himself to his knees just as the German yanked the blade free. Niven leaned forward and sent two quick jabs into the German's kidneys. He closed his eyes and grimaced, staggering to the right.

Niven lunged across the ground and grabbed his fallen sword. He swung his head toward the German. The man had recovered, his blazing dark eyes aimed right at Niven. The German raised his axe and advanced on him.

Niven remained on his knees. He had no time to get up. Instead he lashed out with his sword. The blade went clean through the German's left ankle. He cried out in pain and fell backwards, the battleaxe dropping from his hand. The German drew in his left leg, clutching at the severed, bloody stump that used to be his foot.

Niven scrambled over to him. He brought the sword back over his head and plunged it into the German's chest. The man's mouth opened wide. His bulging eyes gazed in shock and horror at the blade jammed into his breastbone.

Niven pulled out the sword. The German gave a sputtering cough. His head fell back on the ground and his eyes closed forever.

A long, loud breath escaped Niven's mouth. He sat back and stared at the dead German, shaking his head. In an age of machine guns and artillery and aeroplanes, he never imagined he'd fight an enemy in a classic medieval duel.

_I should send Douglas my thanks for all the swordfighting tips. He may have saved my life._

At least, he would thank Douglas Fairbanks, Junior, if he could ever talk to anyone about this mission.

**XXXXX**

Peter stared over the rear of the SIG 33 and saw the goblin charge toward him, sword raised, a gargling war cry bursting from its mouth. He glanced toward the front of the vehicle. Fleming was crouched behind the tracks, blazing away with his Tommy Gun. Probably shooting it out with the Germans. Well, the Commander was much better equipped to take on gun-toting Nazis.

The goblin, on the other hand, Peter could handle just fine.

He rose to his feet and brought up his sword. The goblin bellowed, drew back his sword and swung it. Peter easily blocked it and took a swipe at the goblin. Metal clanged as blade met blade. Peter thrust his sword at the goblin's midsection. The creature brought down his sword on Peter's, then stabbed at him. Peter sidestepped the thrust. He hefted his sword and swung down. The blade struck the goblin's shoulder and cleaved though flesh and bone until it reached the chest. The goblin crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from the massive gash in its torso.

Peter sucked down a deep breath and looked away from the dead goblin.

That's when he saw him. A tall man in green and brown fatigues with a hawkish, scarred face running toward him, machine gun raised.

Peter dove behind the rear of the SIG just as a sharp crackle split the air. Bullets pinged off the vehicle's armored hide. All his muscles tensed. He gripped his sword tighter, wishing it to be a Tommy Gun instead.

Jaw clenched, he peeked around the side, checking how close the Nazi was to him.

Less than five meters. He fired another burst. Peter ducked back behind the SIG 33, heart pounding against his chain mail-covered chest.

The Nazi shouted something harsh. Peter didn't know the word, but he picked up the tone. Frustrated. Angry.

He peeked around the vehicle. The Nazi ripped the magazine out of his machine gun and reached down to his waist, most likely for a fully loaded magazine.

"Oh no you don't." Peter sprang to his feet and charged.

The Nazi just pulled out a new magazine when he saw him. Peter cried out and brought down his sword. The Nazi dropped the magazine, grabbed the rear of the machine gun with both hands and swung it. A metallic thud and rip sounded from both weapons. The machine gun's barrel spiraled through the air. The Nazi fell backward, clutching the severed, useless weapon.

Peter raised his sword again.

The Nazi threw the half of the machine gun that remained. Peter turned away, the slender piece of metal hitting his shoulder. He grunted, then faced the Nazi again.

The man was already on his feet. He put his shoulder down and barreled into Peter's gut. The air exploded from his lungs. Blue sky whipped past his eyes. He slammed into the ground, the Nazi on top of him. Pain hammered Peter's entire body. He wheezed, trying desperately to refill his lungs.

The Nazi scrambled away. Peter grimaced, pushed himself up and spun around on his knees.

The Nazi crawled over to the dead goblin and claimed its sword. Peter got to his feet just as the Nazi rose to his and whirled around, the sword in front of him. A grin stretched across his scarred face.

"Ah, the boy king," he said in heavily-accented English.

"That's High King Peter." He narrowed his eyes at the Nazi.

"_Ach!_ Forgive me, Your Majesty."

To Peter's surprise, the Nazi actually bowed, then tapped his chest with his palm. "_Hauptsturmfuhrer _Otto Skorzeny of the SS."

Peter's chest and shoulders tightened. Otto Skorzeny? That sounded like the name Fox had been trying to say when he told them of the centaur massacre.

Was the man he faced right now responsible for the deaths of Gaenrorke and Skyla and the others?

Fury burned inside Peter. His nostrils flared, his shoulders rising and falling with angry breaths. "You have a lot to answer for, you Nazi scum."

Skorzeny scoffed at the threat. "_Ja, _and I am sure you will try to make me pay, boy king." He waggled his sword. "Mind you, I was a very good fencer during my university days."

"I doubt you were good at all, judging by that scar on your face." Peter hoped the taunt would anger Skorzeny, make him prone to mistakes in their fight.

Instead it had an unexpected result.

Skorzeny laughed.

Peter blinked in surprise. _He must be mad. Just as mad as Hit-_

Skorzeny abruptly ended his laughter and charged. Peter brought up his sword just in time to block the Nazi's first strike. Skorzeny quickly drew back his sword and swung again. Peter blocked it. He tried to slash Skorzeny's shoulder. The Nazi's blade clanged off his, deflecting the blow.

Peter stepped left and swung at Skorzeny's stomach. Blocked. Skorzeny thrust his sword at Peter. He dodged and slashed at Skorzeny's head. The Nazi ducked and took a swing at Peter's midsection. He jumped back and knocked Skorzeny's blade aside. Peter whipped his sword across his body, aiming for the Nazi's chest. Skorzeny dodged the blow, then moved in and swung. Peter brought his sword around and blocked it, the tip of Skorzeny's blade about two inches from his face.

He pushed Skorzeny's sword aside. The Nazi immediately regained himself and slashed at him. Their swords clanged together.

Peter backed off, sword in front of him, breathing heavily. _He's good._

The two circled one another, looking for an opening, looking for any advantage, no matter how small.

Peter could find none.

Skorzeny charged and swung. Peter countered. Swing, block, swing, block. Back and forth they went. Peter backed off again, trying to regroup, trying to come up with a way to end this fight.

Skorzeny didn't give him the chance. He rushed forward, chopping down with his sword. Peter turned his sword horizontally. Both blades banged together. He then slashed low at Skorzeny's legs. The Nazi twisted his arms, crouched and swung his sword low, blocking Peter's strike.

It also left Skorzeny's head exposed.

Peter snapped his head forward. His helmet slammed into Skorzeny's. His vision went white. Peter felt himself stumble backwards. He blinked, the white glow in his eyes breaking apart and forming blob-like stars. Pain drilled through his brain. He shook his head, blinking rapidly, trying to clear his vision.

Skorzeny wobbled from side to side, pressing a hand to the right side of his face. Grimacing, the tall Nazi straightened up.

Peter clenched his teeth, fighting through the pain. He hefted his sword and sprang at Skorzeny. The Nazi brought up his sword just as Peter swung.

_CLANG!_

The strike knocked Skorzeny's sword and arm out to his side. Peter drew back his sword and swung again. Skorzeny brought around his blade. The explosion of metal on metal sent quakes up Peter's arms.

It also sent Skorzeny's sword flying out of his hand.

The Nazi staggered, then righted himself. His eyes widened when the tip of Peter's sword hovered an inch from his face.

"Yield or die, your choice."

Skorzeny's eyes darted from the sword to Peter's face. Shoulders sagged, he slowly raised his hands over his head.

Peter's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. His mind flashed back to Gaenrorke, his sickened first reaction when he saw the centaur's mutilated body. He felt his face burn and redden as he stared at Skorzeny, the man responsible for that butchery. How long had they made Gaenrorke suffer? How much pain had he endured before he died?

How much had this monster enjoyed it?

The urge to just run his blade right through this filthy animal's throat nearly overpowered Peter.

_You can't do it. He surrendered._

_Would he show you, or anyone else in Narnia, the same kind of mercy?_

He continued staring at Skorzeny, who now wore a smirk on his face. It only made Peter's hatred for the man burn white hot.

Harsh, mechanical growls emerged from the woods. Peter glanced to his left. His chest tightened.

Two German half-tracks rolled out of the trees, the back of one loaded with goblins and wolves.

Something flashed in his peripheral vision. He started to turn his head just as a booted foot rammed into his gut. Skorzeny's foot. Pain hammered his stomach. He staggered backwards and doubled over, unable to breathe.

Skorzeny dashed toward the half-tracks. He looked over his shoulder and waved. "_Auf Wiedersehen, _boy king."

**XXXXX**

Skorzeny winced as he ran, invisible hammers banging against his brain. He took quick, deep breaths and blinked, trying to clear his head.

_Stupid, Otto. Stupid._ He simmered, thinking how close he came to dying at the hands of a damn boy playing king. How embarrassing would that be?

He waved his hands as he approached the first Hanomag, driven by Heigl. Out the corner of his eye he noticed a green and brown lump on the ground. He turned and clenched his teeth. It was Maier. Dead. Probably shot by one of the British soldiers.

Heigl pulled up alongside him and stopped. _"Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer. _Are you all right?"

"_Ja! Ja!" _Skorzeny gave him a dismissive wave. He then turned to the self-propelled gun the British had captured. "Make for that SIG 33. The British are planning to use it against us. Secure it, and kill any Englishmen or Narnians that get in your way."

"_Jawohl, Mein -"_

Bullets zipped through the air before Heigl could finish the sentence. A few pinged off the side of the Hanomag. Skorzeny crouched and poked his head over the sloped hood.

A new group of British soldiers, fauns and cheetahs charged across the field. One of the soldiers was on one knee, firing a Bren Gun. Some of the fauns launched arrows into the air. Most of them struck the ground around them. One arrow pierced the side of a wolf in the rear of the Hanomag.

Skorzeny sneered, wondering where this group had come from. Had they taken out the other batteries, and come here to help their comrades?

None of that mattered. Securing the SIG 33 was their main priority.

"Get to the gun!" he ordered Heigl. "I'll hold off this bunch!"

Skorzeny darted around the rear of the Hanomag and hurried over to the second one. Bullets buzzed and cracked through the air. Two arrows struck the ground just a few feet from him.

He climbed into the back of the second Hanomag, glancing at Egger in the driver's seat. Skorzeny grabbed the MG 34 machine gun, swung it toward the enemy and fired.

**XXXXX**

Niven watched tracers cut through the air as he sprinted back to their captured SIG 33. Rowling dropped to his stomach, narrowly avoiding a line of tracers, and resumed firing. One of the fauns twisted in a macabre dance and collapsed. Niven's jaw clenched, knowing the poor creature would never rise again.

He looked back to the SIG 33 and spotted the other Hanomag making a beeline for it, a whole squad of White Witch followers in the back.

"Commander!" He shouted to Fleming. "Commander! Get that thing moving now!"

Fleming nodded and climbed onto the SIG 33, followed by High King Peter. The engine had just roared to life when Niven jumped on board. The self-propelled gun jerked backward, increasing the gap between it and the oncoming Hanomag.

Niven peered around the armored shield. One of the goblins in the back fired an arrow at them. It didn't come close to hitting the SIG 33. Niven glanced at the MG 34 machine gun mounted in the rear compartment. None of the goblins touched it. Jerry must not have bothered to show them how it works. Thank heaven for small miracles.

Fleming swung the SIG 33 left, still going in reverse. He narrowly missed another SIG 33 before twisting the vehicle right. The Hanomag still kept after them.

"We can't run from them forever," said King Peter.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Your Majesty." Niven looked back at the ammunition compartment, then turned to Fleming. "Commander! Stop!"

"What!" Fleming whipped his head between Niven and the viewing port.

"If we're going to knock out that Hanomag, we need to stop this thing. Now stop! That's an order!"

Doubt flared in Fleming's eyes. Anger and worry grew inside Niven. Would the naval officer forget about Menzies' orders to obey him, regardless of their difference in rank?

Fleming turned around and pulled one of the levers on the control panel. The SIG 33 ground to a halt.

"Your Majesty! Open the breech!" Niven didn't even look to see if King Peter was doing it. He just picked up one of the shells and hurried over to the gun.

The king already had the breech open when Niven got there. He rammed the shell into it, slammed it closed and looked over the 15cm gun.

The Hanomag was less than ten meters away and swerved to the right.

"Back up! Back up! Back up!"

Fleming gunned the engine. The SIG 33 rolled backwards. The Hanomag cut to the right in pursuit. Two goblins launched arrows. One shattered against the vehicle's half-inch armored shields.

Niven spun the handle that controlled the gun's angle, depressing it. He then glanced down at the trigger, then at the Hanomag. The German driving it kept far to the right of the SIG 33's gun. No surprise there. Only a fool would drive straight at a 15cm gun.

"Turn left!" he shouted at Fleming. "Keep turning . . . keep turning!"

The gun passed by the Hanomag, and kept going. The German turned in an arc, trying to keep up with them and stay out of the gun's path at the same time. Niven kept ordering Fleming to wheel around the SIG 33. He needed some space between the Hanomag and the gun barrel to lead the target. He'd have to be quick on the trigger when he told Fleming to stop.

"Left . . . reverse . . . to the right!" He stared down the barrel, wishing it had a proper gun sight. Then again, this was artillery, designed to hit targets miles away with the help of spotters. It didn't need a sight like most guns. Niven's eyes flickered between the Hanomag and the air beyond the gun barrel. He did some quick calculations in his head, but knew this would come down to feel, instinct . . . and luck.

A lot of luck.

Fleming wheeled the SIG 33 right. The gap between the barrel and the Hanomag increased.

"Slow down . . . Stop!"

Fleming yanked down on a lever. The SIG 33 jerked to a halt.

Niven waited half-a-second and fired the big gun. A horrendous burst of thunder enveloped them. Flame and black smoke belched from the barrel, obscuring his view. The burning smell of cordite filled his nostrils. He coughed.

An orange flash appeared. Niven squinted, peering through a gap in the smoke. A geyser of flame ripped the Hanomag in half. Goblins and wolves went flying out the rear compartment and hit the ground, some with flames licking their bodies.

"Well done, Lieutenant!" Fleming slapped him on the leg.

"Thank you. Same to you, Commander." Niven smiled at him.

"We may want to hold off on the congratulations," said King Peter. "We still have one more of those half-tracks to deal with."

Niven nodded and stared into the distance at the remaining Hanomag. Its machine gun had ceased firing, the person manning it probably still in shock over the destruction of the other Hanomag. He doubted that would last long.

Niven opened the breech and ejected the spent shell casing. "Best get another round for Jerry, shall I?"

**XXXXX**

Thalberg took measured breaths, trying to control his anger. That proved difficult as he looked at the burning wreckage of _Sturmscharfuhrer_ Heigl's Hanomag. Or the unmoving forms of von Droth and Maier. His comrades, dead. The damned English and Narnians were winning this battle, would use that SIG 33 against more of his fellow SS troopers.

_Not if I can help it._

Thalberg pivoted behind the tree he used for cover, turning in the direction of the British/Narnian reinforcements. One of the soldiers had a Bren Gun. He needed to take him out first, reduce the enemy's firepower.

He started to bring up his rifle.

Something caught his eye.

Thalberg remained still, his eyes sweeping over the trees and foliage beyond his position. There! In that clump of bushes sixty yards away. A normal person wouldn't be able to make it out. But as a sniper, he was far from normal. Through the branches and leaves he could just make out a human form.

A human form with a rifle.

_Sniper!_

Thalberg raised his rifle and swung it around, trying to get the crosshairs on –

_Crack!_

Something slammed into Thalberg's head, just above the bridge of his nose. He felt nothing after that.

**XXXXX**

"Egger! Get us out of here!" ordered Skorzeny. _"Schnell! Schnell!"_

Egger twisted the wheel, spinning the Hanomag around. He stepped on the gas and headed for the woods.

Skorzeny checked over his shoulder. The British-controlled SIG 33 rolled forward, then stopped. A ball of ice formed in his stomach. He willed the Hanomag to go faster. _Mein Gott, _it felt like they were driving through molasses.

A loud _thump _came from the gun. Skorzeny tensed. Images of his life flashed before his mind's eye. Growing up in Austria. His time at the University of Vienna. Joining the Nazi Party. Battles in Yugoslavia and Russia. So much more to do and –

An explosion tore up the ground fifteen meters behind the Hanomag. He ducked as shrapnel zipped overhead and pinged off the armored sides. The fear-fueled knots unraveled around his muscles.

He would live to fight another day.

Skorzeny looked straight ahead. The woods lay just twenty meters away. He checked the SIG 33 again. They would have no chance to reload, re-aim and fire before they reached the woods.

Egger weaved through the trees. Skorzeny glimpsed Thalberg lying beside a tree, unmoving. He sighed. Dead. His squad, his comrades. All dead, save for him and Egger. Good men, all of them.

He turned back to the SIG 33 battery, anger lines digging into his face. The British and Narnians may have this battle. But in the end, the deaths of Heigl and the others would be avenged.

In the end, _Das Reich_ would win the war in this world.

**XXXXX**

_Lucky blighter._ Niven sighed as he watched the remaining Hanomag disappear into the woods.

His body went rubbery, the tension dissolving from his muscles. The sudden stillness overwhelmed him. After so many minutes, minutes that seemed like hours, of gunfire and explosions, the end of it all felt unreal. Could the battle really be over?

Niven shook his head and gathered himself. He picked up his Thompson and looked around the metal shields. Every Nazi and White Witch follower he saw was dead. Across the way, Sergeant Major Pike led the other Commandos and Narnians toward them.

He hopped off the SIG 33, followed by Fleming and King Peter.

"You showed up just in the nick of time, Sergeant Major." Niven grinned at Pike.

"Don't know about that, Sir. You seemed to fair quite well without our help."

"A lucky shot, I assure you." Niven nodded back to the SIG 33.

"I'd love to have that sort of luck," said Rowling, who then rotated his head from side-to-side. "Oy! Where's Taylor?"

Niven's face fell. "Dead, I'm afraid," he stated in a low voice.

Rowling just gaped. Pike's jaw clenched.

Sergeant Davis shook his head, then muttered, "How did it happen?"

"Sniper got him."

"And I got the sniper."

Everyone turned to see Sergeant Ladamire walking toward them, carrying his Lee-Enfield rifle at his side. "He won't be killing our men, or anyone else, again."

"Good work, Sergeant." Niven nodded to his sniper, then turned back to the other Commandos and Narnians. He drew a breath and straightened up. "What about the other guns?"

"Out of commission," Pike reported. "All of them."

"Prisoners?"

"Six. All German gun crews. Some of the fauns and a cheetah are taking them back to Cair Paravel."

Niven opened his mouth, about to acknowledge the report, when soft thunderclaps rumbled in the distance. Everyone turned in the direction of the explosions.

"Hopefully Cair Paravel will still be there when we get back," commented Rowling.

"Let's try and make sure of that. Come on, then." Niven spun on his heel and headed back to the SIG 33.

"What are we going to do, Sir?" Ladamire asked.

Niven turned to him. "I don't think Jerry will mind if we borrow one of his artillery pieces. And if he does mind, well then too bloody bad."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	14. Chapter 14

Their plan had worked.

Almost.

Susan gazed at the battlefield below. Five German tanks sat motionless, flames gushing from open hatches. Showers of sparks burst from them as their ammunition exploded.

That still left five more tanks intact, their hatches closed. The gryphons had no hope of pouring oil inside them. The tanks just sat back and bombarded the Narnian positions.

Susan flinched as a crash and explosion rocked Cair Paravel. She whipped her head to the right. Rubble from a tower cascaded down the side of the castle, trailing dust and smoke. Below, fountains of dirt and smoke shot up in and around the trenches. Tracers criss-crossed the smoky battlefield, many more from the Germans than the British.

A sick feeling slithered through Susan's stomach. The Germans and White Witch followers couldn't be more than hundred and fifty meters from the gates of Cair Paravel. Puffs of smoke came from the Boys anti-tank rifles in the trenches, though none of their rounds appeared to penetrate the German tanks.

Susan launched an arrow. It struck a Minotaur in the chest. Other archers around her also fired. Some hit their targets. Others missed.

It did not halt the enemy advance.

Susan snatched another arrow from her quiver. She caught sight of a helmeted head poking over a battlement to her right. Private Chaffee, the young soldier she'd been flirting with. He took aim with his rifle and fired three times before ducking down.

_Probably reloading._

Susan let fly her arrow. It went through the throat of a machine gunner in one of the armored cars.

Chaffee reappeared. He rested his rifle atop the battlement, aimed and –

A flash of orange and black, followed an instant later by a crash, consumed the young private.

Susan gasped, her eyes locked on the charred, smoking pile of stone where Chaffee had been. Her throat clenched. It couldn't have been more than twenty, thirty minutes ago she had been having a pleasant conversation with him, thinking how nice and handsome he was. Now . . . now Chaffee was dead. Barely older than her, and he was dead.

The base of her throat tingled. She held her breath, thinking of the bullet that had struck her there and almost ended her life. Lucy's cordial had saved her.

Susan slowly moved her gaze from the remains of Chaffee's position to the advancing Germans and White Witch followers.

Had her little sister only delayed the inevitable?

She spotted one of the Vickers machine guns in the trenches sweeping back and forth. Tracers cut down Germans and Minotaurs and goblins. A few rounds pinged off armored cars.

The gun of one of the tanks boomed. The Vickers and its two-man crew vanished in an explosion of flame and dirt.

The enemy kept coming. One hundred meters from the gates of Cair Paravel.

Susan's jaw quivered. The trenches would be overrun. The surviving soldiers would be massacred. She very much doubted the Germans and White Witch followers would be inclined to take prisoners.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes and she looked down at a gray messenger owl.

"Dultho. Tell the guards manning the gate to open the doors and get our soldiers in the trenches in here."

"At once, Your Majesty." The owl bowed and flew off.

Susan looked up to find Edmund and Lucy staring back at her. Her sister opened her mouth, almost hesitant to speak. Several seconds passed before she found her voice. "Wha . . . what are we going to do?"

_I don't know, _was what Susan wanted to say. That was the truth. But she couldn't. A queen had to appear in command all the time.

She straightened up. "We keep fighting. We have better cover inside the castle than we do outside."

Cair Paravel shook again. Susan turned back to the battlefield, wondering how much protection the castle would afford from German tanks. Her dread grew when she saw another tank in the distance. At least it looked like a tank. But instead of a turret, it had armored shields mounted around the front.

It also had a very large gun pointed right at Cair Paravel.

**XXXXX**

Niven grimaced as he peered through one of the viewing ports of the SIG 33. Several columns of smoke rose from Cair Paravel. British and Narnian soldiers dashed through the castle's main gate. The Nazis and their monstrous allies advanced as tracers from vehicle-mounted machine guns laced the battlements. Five German panzers, PzKpfw III Ausf Es best he could tell, rolled up near the trenches and halted. They elevated their 37mm guns and fired.

He looked over his shoulder at King Peter. The poor lad wore an expression of fear and anger as he gaped at Cair Paravel. Niven had no doubt first and foremost in the young monarch's mind was the safety of his brother and sisters. Even he had to wonder if any, or all, of them had been killed.

_Focus, David._

He scanned the battlefield. It didn't appear as though any of the Germans or monsters had noticed them. All their attention was focused on Cair Paravel. Even if they had noticed them, they would probably think this SIG 33 was here to provide them more fire support.

His eyes settled on the panzers. A smile flickered across his lips. All five of them sat in place, banging away with their guns. Best of all, their rears, the weakest part of any tank, faced them.

They made for easy targets.

"Ladamire!" He called over his shoulder.

Niven stepped aside to give his sniper some room. Ladamire peered over the gun. "Left fifteen degrees."

Fleming turned the SIG 33 left.

"Another two degrees . . . bit more . . . stop!" Ladamire lowered the barrel five degrees. "There! Right on target! Fire!"

Everyone covered their ears as Niven pulled the trigger.

A thunderclap enveloped them. The SIG 33 rocked backwards.

A fiery geyser ripped the turret off the panzer and sent it tumbling onto the ground.

"Direct hit!" Niven shouted. "Pike! Another round!"

Niven opened the breech, expelling the spent casing. Sergeant Major Pike rammed home a new shell. Ladamire lined up on a second panzer and . . .

"Fire!"

Niven pulled the trigger. A fireball tore apart the panzer.

They loaded another shell. Niven watched the panzers, nervous tendrils creeping through his insides. Some of the Germans must have noticed them by now. Most of their vehicles carried radios. They must have warned the panzers.

Ladamire lined up on another panzer. Niven pulled the trigger. Flames ripped through the rear of their target.

The remaining two panzers moved forward, then wheeled right, their turrets rotating toward them.

"I think they found us out, gentlemen," Niven stated. "Commander. Evasive maneuvers."

Fleming jerked the control handles and stomped on the accelerator. The SIG 33 lurched forward, then cut left.

Flame and smoke spat from one of the panzer's guns, followed by a _crump._

"Down!" Niven dropped to his knees and balled up. The others did the same.

The ground erupted twenty meters behind them.

The second panzer fired. The round shrieked past them and exploded in the woods.

Fleming zigzagged the SIG 33. Another panzer round missed them. Fleming drove around one of the burning panzers. Hopefully the smoke would make it harder for the Germans to get a bead on them.

_Perhaps we could also use it to our advantage._

"Commander! Halt!"

Fleming stopped just a few meters from the burning panzer. Niven immediately jumped off the chassis.

"Lieutenant!" King Peter blurted. "Where are you going?"

Niven didn't answer. He darted past the burning panzer, coughing on smoke that carried with it the stench of burning metal, rubber . . .

And flesh.

He reached the rear and squatted, peering through breaks in the smoke. Both panzers raced toward them, one coming from their left, the other to their right. Niven bit his lower lip, expecting them to fire.

Thankfully, they didn't. He assumed neither crew could see them through the smoke. Since Jerry was buttoned up, the viewing ports in those panzers gave him a rather limited view of the outside world. All that bouncing around while moving also didn't help matters.

The smoke clogged Niven's nostrils and stung his throat. He coughed again. His eyes watered as they flickered between the panzers. The one on his right appeared to be outpacing its partner.

He dashed back to the SIG 33, coughing as he ran. He scrambled onto the chassis.

"There's a panzer that's going to be clearing the rear of that one," Niven pointed to the burning panzer, "right quick. Commander. Come about. Soon as Jerry comes into the clear, we'll give him a right good kick in the trousers."

"Coming about, Lieutenant."

Fleming swung the SIG 33 around. Niven manned the 15cm gun, a round already in the breech.

"Get ready to roll as soon as I fire," he said to Fleming. "That other panzer will be coming up on our rear."

"Yes, Lieutenant."

Niven stared dead ahead, swallowing, praying he hadn't misjudged the distance and speed of the other panzer. If it snuck up behind them, they were done for. Hell, if he missed the panzer about to appear in front of them they'd be dead. The SIG 33's armored shields could withstand machine gun fire all well and good. A panzer round, however, would go through it like a knife through butter.

The hazy smoke and distant trees in front of him were suddenly replaced by gray metal and a black iron cross.

"Fire!"

The 15cm gun thundered. A horrific explosion tore through the report of the big gun. Shrapnel pinged off the armored shields like lethal raindrops on a tin roof.

The SIG 33 rolled forward. Niven looked over his shoulder.

The remaining panzer appeared, its turret rotating toward them.

"Left! Turn left!"

Fleming wheeled the SIG 33 left, rounding the panzer they just destroyed.

The other panzer fired. The round whistled past and burst in the ground near the woods.

They cleared the burning panzers. Niven poked his head around the left armored shield. The surviving panzer backed up, trying to parallel them. Its turret turned nearly 180 degrees, tracking them.

Fleming increased their speed and started zigzagging. The panzer fired. A chill went down Niven's spine as the round screamed past. It exploded twenty meters away.

"Halt! Pike! Reload!" Niven quickly opened the breach. They only had a few seconds to do this before Jerry reloaded, sighted them and fired.

Pike rammed the shell into the gun. Niven slammed the breech shut.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Fleming mashed the accelerator, then twisted the SIG 33 left and right.

The panzer fired. Miss.

"Come around!" Niven shouted.

Fleming spun the SIG 33 in a half-circle. Niven took quick aim at the panzer and fired.

The round struck the first burning panzer. A brilliant fireball blotted out its front half.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Fleming cut the SIG 33 left. The panzer fired and missed, then sped after them. Fleming weaved the self-propelled gun through the smoky battlefield, driving it like a racing car. An ungainly, 12-ton racing car at that.

The panzer stopped and fired. An explosion went up less than ten meters away. Shrapnel whizzed around them and pinged off the shields.

A tortured cry went up. Niven whipped around. One of the fauns clutched a bleeding leg. Sergeant Davis hopped over to him and pulled out bandages from the medical kit taken from the late Corporal Taylor. Niven looked past them to the panzer. The damn thing was gaining on them.

_We have to end this now. _Much as he hated to admit it, the Germans had the best tank crews in the world. He and his men had been lucky so far. But he knew luck could only last so long against a skilled, experienced panzer crew.

Niven racked his brains for a plan.

"Lieutenant. I may have an idea." Fleming quickly laid it out for him. At first Niven thought it utter lunacy. Unfortunately, they had no time to sit around and come up with something better.

"Do it!"

Fleming nodded. "Stand by that gun."

He yanked down one of the control levers. The SIG 33 jerked to a halt. The engine roared again and the vehicle shot backwards. Fleming looked over his shoulder as they neared the panzer, then sped past it.

Niven looked over the gun, his eyes locked on the panzer's exposed rear. The enemy, though, turned to the right.

"Ladamire!" Niven called out.

The sniper jumped behind the gun and shouted to Niven. "Stop! Traverse ten degrees . . . fifteen degrees . . . Panzer's coming about . . . got him! Fire!"

Niven pulled the trigger.

The round struck just under the panzer's turret. A pillar of flame burst from it.

"Got him!" Ladamire raised a fist in the air. "All their panzers are flaming heaps!"

Cheers went up from the other Commandos and the fauns. Even Niven couldn't help himself. He let out a triumphant whoop.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." King Peter shook his hand. "Well done."

"No trouble, Your Majesty. Just wish we could have knocked out these blighters a bit sooner."

"Um, Sir," Rowling muttered. "I don't think we're out of the woods just yet."

Niven followed the Corporal's gaze. His chest tightened as he saw several squat objects racing across the battlefield toward them.

Armored cars. About a dozen of them.

"Commander! Get us out of here!"

Fleming gunned the engine sped off.

Orange flickers came from the German armored cars. Bullets buzzed and cracked around them. Everyone laid flat of the chassis. Ladamire fired his rifle and Rowling opened up with his Bren Gun.

A German round cracked over them and pinged off the armored shield, inches over Fleming's head.

"We're too exposed like this!" King Peter said.

"I can fix that, Your Majesty." Fleming wheeled the SIG 33 around and drove in reverse. The armored shields now faced the Germans and absorbed the machine gun fire.

Niven looked over the gun. The armored cars split up, some going left, some going right, all of them staying out of the gun's line of sight.

He thought about stopping and trying to take out one of them. Unfortunately, it would be a futile gesture. Those cars were smaller, faster and more maneuverable than the panzers. Even if they did hit one, that would leave eleven more to deal with.

The armored cars drew closer, coming at them from both flanks. Niven could guess their plan. Surround them and rake them from behind with machine gun fire. Or maybe drive alongside and lob a couple grenades onto the chassis. And they had no chance of outrunning them. Those armored cars could easily do over thirty miles per hour. Their self-propelled gun could barely do twenty.

More rounds pinged off the shields. Niven's teeth clenched. Primmie's face floated before his mind's eye. He turned and looked at his men. Pike and Davis were both married with children. He mentally sent out apologies to both families for never having another chance see their husbands and fathers. Ladamire was engaged to a lovely university girl. Now they would have no future. Rowling was single, and would never have the chance to marry. He had no idea as to Commander Fleming's marriage status, or family situation. Surely someone would miss him. And King Peter! Narnia was about to lose its monarch.

_Sorry, lads._ Anger festered in him. He'd led his men through this strange world inside a wardrobe, fought against overwhelming odds, had already suffered the loss of Corporal Taylor. They had just turned the tide of battle, and now likely wouldn't live to see the outcome.

Niven gripped his Thompson. If he had to go down, he'd make bloody sure some Germans went with him.

"All right, lads. Get ready to -"

"Look!" Rowling pointed skyward.

Niven looked up. His eyes widened.

Nearly twenty gryphons dove at the armored cars, each one carrying a barrel of fuel oil. Niven spotted a couple Germans waving their arms or tapping their friends on the shoulder or pointing to the sky. Most of them, however, were too focused on their SIG 33 to notice the threat from above.

The gryphons tilted their barrels. With no roofs to protect them, the oil splashed onto the armored cars, soaking their open interiors.

The gryphons pulled up. One German raised his machine gun and fired. A flash of orange blotted out the compartment. Flames gushed from the armored car as it gradually rolled to a stop.

Dots of flickering orange soared through the air. Flaming arrows. They fell in and around the armored cars. One of them vanished in a fiery plume. Then another. Another. Soon most of the armored cars were ablaze. Two of them crashed into each other. A German leapt out of another one, his entire body on fire. He staggered a couple meters before collapsing.

Another barrage of fire arrows arced through the sky. The remaining armored cars that escaped the first attack unscathed turned into wheeled funeral pyres.

The men and fauns let out a cheer. Even King Peter roared in triumph, raising his sword over his head.

Niven simply let out the breath he'd been holding forever.

Another swarm of gryphons flew over the battlefield, spilling oil on the infantry. Dozens of fire arrows flew from the castle. Trails of fire snaked across the open ground, cutting off enemy troops or burning them alive.

The doors to Cair Paravel opened. Narnians and British soldiers rushed out, reclaiming the trenches they had abandoned mere minutes ago. Arrows, without fiery tips, tore into the enemy ranks, as did machine gun and rifle and mortar fire.

"Commander, halt!" Niven ordered. "What say we give our friends a helping hand?"

They fired one shell after another from the SIG 33's gun. Explosions flung Germans and White Witch followers into the air. At one point, Niven spotted a small group of monsters and wolves, led by a goblin with a necklace of what looked like rather large marbles, charging them. The goblin waved its sword in the air, saliva flying from its open mouth.

"They must be mad." Niven shook his head. Well, if those buggers wanted to charge a rolling artillery piece, he'd be more than happy to show them the folly of their ways.

He shut the breech as soon as Sergeant Major Pike rammed home a new shell. Ladamire lined up the shot, and Niven pulled the trigger.

A geyser of dirt and smoke erupted in front of the White Witch followers. Something spiraled through the air. The veins in Niven's neck stuck out when he noticed it was the goblin's torso.

"Look!" King Peter pointed. "They're retreating!"

Niven squinted, peering through the smoke hovering over the battlefield. SS troopers fled into the woods, alongside goblins and Minotaurs and dwarves and wolves.

"We did it!" Pike slapped his thigh. "By God, we did it! We routed those blighters!"

All the humans and fauns got to the feet and cheered.

"Run all the way back to Berlin, you Hun bastards!" Rowling shouted.

"Give Uncle Adolf our warmest regards!" Ladamire laughed.

Niven pressed a hand against the armored shield, relief flooding his body, turning his legs to jelly. He offered up a silent prayer for the new lease on life for him and his men.

Despite the dull hum in his ears, he heard boisterous cheers from the trenches and from the battlements of Cair Paravel. He checked over the gun barrel, surveying the battlefield. The only Germans and White Witch followers he saw lay dead.

_We won. We really won._

**XXXXX**

Peter thought back to the end of the battle, how he cheered like mad when he saw the Germans and White Witch followers fleeing into the woods.

Now, just a few hours after, as he walked through the corridors of Cair Paravel, his celebratory mood had vanished.

He toured the hospital wing, packed to the gills with wounded. Lucy's cordial helped revive the most gravely injured, while the centaur healers worked on the rest.

Then he went to the Grand Hall, which now served as a makeshift morgue. Sheet-draped bodies lined the floor from one end of the hall to the other. Peter's throat tightened, thinking of the creatures lying here. Centaurs, fauns, bears, cheetahs, gryphons. Half the British soldiers ferried here from General Montgomery's lines also laid in the Grand Hall.

_So many. _Peter took a shaky breath, trying to push back the tears that stung his eyes. _Would there be fewer here if I was a better king? A more experienced king?_

Hanging his head, he turned away and left the Grand Hall behind.

Peter continued to wander the castle, giving well wishes to the Narnians he passed for their part in the battle. He climbed the winding stone stairs, his eyes lingering on the holes and rubble and other battle damage whenever he passed it. One stairway he took ended halfway up, the walls around it gone. Probably hit by an artillery shell, he thought. He stood near the edge, gazing out at the quiet battlefield. Smoldering wrecks of tanks and armored cars littered the scarred, blackened ground. Many bodies lay among them. Mostly Germans and White Witch followers. The Narnian and British dead and wounded had long since been removed. Peter chewed on his lip, wondering if they should give the enemy soldiers proper burials. It would be the civilized thing to do. But it was hard for him to think civilized thoughts when he recalled the death and destruction caused by German bombs falling on London, or the sight of that severed goblin torso with the disgusting necklace made of eyeballs.

"A bit worse for wear, I guess."

Peter turned around to find Susan walking up the steps. He frowned and stared at the scorched edges of the walls. "Have you seen all the damage? Cair Paravel's a mess. I can't even imagine how long it will take to fix."

"It could be worse. Had things gone differently, there could be a Nazi flag waving from the top of the castle."

Peter said nothing. What could he say? His sister was right. As bad as the carnage had been, had the Nazis and White Witch followers won, a lot more people and creatures would be dead now, he and his siblings likely among them.

He sighed and turned back to the battlefield. "Was there anything more we could have done? A better plan we could have come up with? A way to not have made this battle so costly?"

Susan came up alongside him and gently touched his arm. "I've asked myself that as well. I don't know what more we could have done differently. We didn't have any tanks or artillery to fight the Nazis. But still we managed to beat them and keep Narnia safe. And you also proved something."

"What's that?"

"That you are a good king." Susan smiled.

Peter drew a breath and smiled back. "Thanks. You're also a good queen. I couldn't have done any of this without you, or Lucy or Edmund."

Susan's smile grew wider as Peter hugged her.

A flapping sound caught their attention. They turned and saw an owl land at the edge of the shattered stairs. "Forgive me for interrupting, Your Majesties."

"No need to apologize, Dultho," Peter responded. "What is it?"

"King Edmund sent me. He and his party are returning with prisoners. He asks that you meet him outside the castle."

"Thank you, Dultho," said Peter. "Tell King Edmund we're on our way."

"Yes, Your Majesty." The owl flew off.

Minutes later, Peter and Susan stood near the charred remains of a German tank as Edmund, Lieutenant Niven's Commandos, and fifteen Narnian soldiers emerged from the woods. They flanked a line of around thirty prisoners, mostly Germans with a few goblins and dwarves sprinkled in.

"Sorry, Your Majesties," Niven gave a slight bow, "but this sorry lot's all we could bring back. Looks like the others scampered back to the Fatherland."

"Quite all right, Lieutenant," Peter replied. "Were you able to get any information out of them?"

"Oh, quite a bit. Didn't take long for their tongues to loosen up, not when a couple of your bears stalked around them, snarling and giving them the evil eye."

Both Peter and Susan grinned as Niven continued. "First and foremost, we learned the location of their entry point into Narnia."

"Outstanding!" Susan bounced on her heels. "Maybe we can send some of our forces through there, do to Germany what they wanted to do to England."

"Well, I suppose that will be up to the generals and Prime Minister Churchill back in London. But unfortunately, we have another pressing matter."

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"This wasn't the only bunch of Germans in Narnia," Edmund answered. "There's more of them, headed toward the wardrobe at Professor Kirke's home."

Susan's mouth fell open. Peter stood still, his mind absorbing his brother's words. More Germans? Headed toward their wardrobe?

Headed toward England?

Dread and anger swelled within him. He thought they had defeated the Nazis and their allies. Now they had to fight them again? Even more Narnians and Britons would have to die?

"How many?" Peter thought he noticed a slight quiver in his voice.

"About a regiment's worth," replied Niven. "Between a thousand and two thousand."

"And they're equipped just like the blaggards we fought here," said Sergeant Major Pike. "Tanks, artillery. They have General Montgomery's lads severely outgunned."

"And if they break through his lines," Susan said, "then we'll have a thousand or more German soldiers running loose in England."

"Not just any soldiers," Fleming spoke up. "SS. Worst of the bunch. Mark my words, they'll wreak havoc if they make it through to England."

"We have to go after them." Lines of determination wrinkled Peter's forehead. "We have to give General Montgomery all the help we can."

"Peter." Edmund spread his arms out to his sides. "It'll take us more than a day to march there. By then the battle will likely be over."

"We might have a quicker way," said Niven. "Jerry left some of his trucks behind when he hoofed it. We could use them to bring troops to General Montgomery's lines."

"We could also use the gryphons to ferry soldiers there," Edmund suggested.

"Actually . . ." Fleming raised a hand. "I think we can use the gryphons for a lot more than just ferrying people."

The Royal Navy Commander laid out his plan.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	15. Chapter 15

General Montgomery hated artillery.

Specifically, he hated enemy artillery.

He crouched in the trench, hands over his helmeted head, as another deafening blast shook the ground. A rain of dirt pelted him and the other soldiers around him.

More German shells screamed through the air. Exploding suns lit up the pre-dawn darkness. Large, invisible fists slammed into his body with each impact. Montgomery clenched his teeth and scowled. He hated sitting in here doing nothing. He hated sitting here helpless while Bally Jerry pounded him and his men with impunity.

Unfortunately, they had nothing that could strike back at the Germans' artillery. Even more maddening, shelter lay just over two kilometers behind them. The wardrobe. Walk through it and they'd be back at Professor Kirke's mansion, no shells falling on them. But getting there meant running in the open under artillery fire, not something conducive for one's longevity. Plus they couldn't abandon the line. As soon the artillery fire stopped, the Germans would likely send in their infantry.

He and his men had no choice but to hold their position and ride it out.

Shriek, crash, shriek, crash, shriek, crash. The deadly symphony continued as the sun started to rise. One shell exploded fifty meters to Montgomery's left. He grimaced as he saw bodies and body parts spiral through the air. A couple men down the line rolled from side-to-side and screamed. A medic sprinted past him to tend to the wounded soldiers.

Another explosion went up. More clumps of dirt fell on Montgomery. He looked around him. A corporal nearby clutched a small crucifix in his hand, muttering a silent prayer.

Suddenly all was quiet. Montgomery felt all his muscles loosen. He offered up a quick prayer, grateful to be alive.

He shook off his relief and slowly poked his head over the trenchline. Black, smoldering holes pockmarked the ground. The burning stench of smoke and cordite hung in the air.

"Thank God that's over with," said a stocky soldier to his right. Captain Graves, one of his company commanders.

Montgomery turned to him. "Unfortunately, Captain, it's far from over. Tell everyone to get ready. I expect Jerry will be headed our way shortly."

"Right, Sir."

Graves hurried off. Montgomery went the opposite way, strutting with confidence as he pulled out his Webley revolver. "Stand fast, lads! You can bet Jerry will be here soon. Must give him a proper welcome. Rather poor job by their artillerymen, I'd say. Look how many of us are still alive."

He heard a few chuckles from the men in the trenches.

"We hold our ground here." His tone grew more serious. "We stop Jerry here. We are the only thing between those blighters and England, and I'll be damned if I'll see one single German set foot on British soil. What say you?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Several soldiers chorused.

"They won't get past us, Sir," stated one private.

"I have an aunt and uncle that live in Oxford," said one sergeant. "You can depend on me and my men to keep Jerry away from that wardrobe."

"Good man." Montgomery slapped the sergeant's shoulder.

He continued making the rounds, encouraging his men and checking on the wounded. With the enemy bombardment over, the more serious cases were being taken back to the wardrobe by stretcher parties. Several rooms in Professor Kirke's mansion had been turned into makeshift hospitals.

Ten minutes after the final shell exploded, a soldier manning a Vickers machine gun called out, "Germans! Germans! Coming out of the woods!"

Montgomery turned. Sure enough, Germans swarmed out of the woods. Not just on foot, but in armored cars, half-tracks . . . and panzers.

He chewed on his lower lip. They had seeded the open ground with anti-tank mines. He had no idea how many survived the artillery barrage. Even if they all had, the panzers surely wouldn't hit every one of them. Then all they had to stop them was the Boys anti-tank rifles. Montgomery didn't put a lot of stock in those weapons, especially since the panzers approaching them looked like the newer, better armored models.

Several panzers stopped and fired. Fountains of dirt erupted around the British trenches.

"Mortars! Machine guns!" Montgomery shouted. "Open fire!"

Tracers streaked across the field. Dull thumps came from the mortars. Small explosions went up around the German forces. They responded with their own machine gun fire from the armored cars and half-tracks. The panzers continued to blast away with their 37mm guns. Montgomery heard a choked off cry to his left. A soldier spun, clutching his chest, and fell face first in the trench. He did not move.

The air filled with the never-ending chatter of machine guns, the cracks of bullets and the explosions of tank rounds. The riflemen soon opened up.

Montgomery spotted a flash of orange and black underneath one of the panzers. He clenched a fist and nodded in satisfaction. One of the mines just took out a panzer, its right track lying on the ground like a big dead snake. A minute later, another panzer fell victim to a mine.

The others kept coming, firing their guns. Two explosions ripped through part of the trenchline, blowing apart clumps of British soldiers. Little spouts of dirt kicked up in front of Montgomery. He ducked down. One soldier near him wasn't so lucky. A round caught him just under his eye.

Montgomery peered over the lip of the trench. He noticed a spark flash off the turret of a panzer. Likely a round from a Boys. As he feared, it did nothing to stop it.

He surveyed the battlefield, sending out orders to shift fire toward the biggest concentrations of German troops, redeploying men to fill gaps in the trenches left by dead or wounded soldiers. He even had a couple mortar crews try to hit the panzers. Not the easiest thing to do against a moving target. Montgomery even doubted whether the two-pound bombs could penetrate tank armor. Still, it was all they had.

Somehow, he doubted it would be enough.

**XXXXX**

Professor Kirke just finished breakfast in the command tent set up near the estate's treeline when a short, round-faced private rushed inside.

"Sir!" He snapped to attention at the end of a table covered with maps and other papers, his eyes locked on Stewart Menzies. "Latest report from General Montgomery."

Menzies nodded for him to continue.

"Sir, the General reports that they are being engaged by not only German infantry, but by panzers and other armored vehicles. The General says they've suffered heavy casualties, but they'll give it their all to keep Jerry away from the wardrobe."

Menzies just stared at the private, his jaw stiffening. "Thank you, Private. Anything else?"

"No, Sir."

"Very well. You're dismissed."

"Yes, Sir." The private saluted and strode out of the tent.

Menzies flattened him palms on the table, head hung. Seconds later he looked up at Kirke.

"The news doesn't sound good, does it?" Kirke frowned.

"No." Menzies shook his head. "No, it doesn't. Without any heavy weapons I doubt General Montgomery's men will be able to hold the line."

A grim look fell over Menzies face. Kirke felt his breakfast roil in his stomach. He knew a Vickers machine gun crew had set up in the doorway of the wardrobe's room. They would cut down any German that dared poke his head out.

_Until one of them chucks a grenade into the room, then they can march through my home, and march through my country._

Menzies let out a heavy sigh. He shuffled over to the sergeant manning the R/T unit in the far corner of the tent.

"Sergeant Ewin. Get me RAF Bomber Command."

"Yes, Sir." The Scottish sergeant turned the crank on his R/T unit and held the receiver to his ear.

Kirke set his empty tray down beside his chair and rose. Invisible pins pricked the back of his neck. _Bomber Command?_ Why would Stewart be calling them? Perhaps for air support in case the Germans made it out of the mansion.

"Bomber Command, Sir." Sergeant Ewin handed Menzies the receiver.

"Claudius . . . this is Dickens. The attic is overflowing with rats. I need a large dose of poison to kill them . . . Yes, thank you."

Menzies handed the receiver back to Sergeant Ewin. His shoulders slumped as he turned to Kirke. Menzies' eyes flickered in every direction but his.

"Something wrong, old boy?" Kirke asked.

Menzies' face stiffened as he finally looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Digory."

"Sorry for what?"

Menzies paused. "The Prime Minister is adamant that not one German soldier comes out of that mansion. He's given a direct order that if General Montgomery's line falls, a flight of Halifax bombers will be sent here to . . . to level your mansion."

**XXXXX**

"Bayonets!" Montgomery shouted. "Pass it down the line! Fix bayonets!"

He picked up a rifle, extra clips and a bayonet from a dead soldier. The enemy was closing. He'd done all he could as a commander. Now he'd have to fight as a regular soldier.

Montgomery rested the rifle on an earthen berm, sighted a German soldier, and fired two rounds. The soldier flailed and collapsed.

Tank rounds burst all around, several landing inside the trenches. Tracers streaked over their heads or tore up the ground, or tore through British soldiers.

_We're not going to hold._ Anger flared inside him. They'd given him the task of keeping the Germans out of England. He was going to fail at that task. Jerry would be pouring into England because of him.

He pushed down his anger, his sense of failure, and fired three more rounds. Another German went down.

"General!" Sergeant Haden, his R/T operator, hollered. "I have a call from Thunderball."

Montgomery turned to him, eyes wide. Thunderball? That was the code name for Lieutenant Niven's bunch of Commandos.

He took the receiver from Haden. "This is Viceroy."

"Viceroy, this is Thunderball." He recognized Niven's voice. "Be advised, we are on our way to assist with air support."

Montgomery's face crinkled. "Air support? Where did you get air support in Narnia?"

"You'll see, Viceroy. Thunderball out."

The line clicked off. Montgomery stared at the receiver with a quizzical expression. Air support? From what Menzies and Kirke told him about this world, Narnians possessed medieval weaponry. They couldn't possibly have any aeroplanes. Balloons, perhaps? He knew the Yanks had used them on occasion in their civil war back in the 1860s. More for observation than actual combat. But he couldn't think of anything . . .

"Blimey, would you look at that." Sergeant Haden gawked skyward.

Montgomery followed the R/T operator's gaze. His mouth slowly fell open.

Dozens of creatures flew over the battlefield. They resembled lions with eagle's wings and beaks. And he swore they carried barrels and people in their paws.

**XXXXX**

The wind screamed around Niven as he and the gryphon that held him soared over the Germans. Hundreds of them dashed across the pockmarked field, covered by panzers and other armored vehicles.

_Good a time as any to start our bombing run._

He looked around at the other gryphons carrying the rest of his unit and gave them a thumbs up. He then reached into his tunic, took out a grenade and pulled the pin. Niven spotted a group of SS troopers and let the grenade fall. He watched it plummet until it exploded in mid-air. That actually worked better than if it had hit the ground. It meant more shrapnel flying through the air, causing more damage. He counted five Germans spinning and falling to the ground.

The other Commandos also dropped grenades, a combination of British ones and the stick ones taken from dead Germans back at Cair Paravel. Small black and orange bursts stained the air above the advancing SS troopers. Several of them collapsed. One grenade exploded right over an armored car, showering everyone in it with shrapnel. The driver slumped over the wheel, dead likely, and the car soon rolled to a stop.

Niven dropped another grenade as tracers started coming up. His muscles tensed, wondering if any of those bullets had his name on it.

A chattering noise caught his attention. He looked right to find Corporal Rowling firing straight down with his Bren Gun. Tracers sliced through a group of SS troopers. Further ahead of Rowling, Queen Susan fired arrow after arrow down at the Germans.

"Swiftwind!" Niven shouted over the wind and the zips of machine gun rounds. "What say we do something about those panzers?"

"I agree," replied the gryphon who carried him. The creature let out a series of high-pitched shrieks.

Several gryphons carrying barrels of fuel oil dove at the panzers, some of which had stopped to fire their 37mm guns at Montgomery's lines. The tracer fire grew thicker as the gryphons got closer to the ground. One of them went into spasms and dropped its barrel. A second gryphon got hit and fell from the sky.

The surviving gryphons flew over the panzers and tilted their barrels. Fuel splashed over the armored hides, onto the German panzer commanders sticking out of the cupolas, and into the interiors.

Swiftwind angled himself at a panzer that had been stopped to fire at Montgomery's line. The commander stared down at his uniform, as though wondering what could have soaked him.

Niven dropped a grenade. Swiftwind pulled up. Seconds later the grenade burst just behind the turret. Flames washed across the panzer, engulfing the commander. He thrashed about and dropped back inside. More flames rose from the hatch. Soon an explosion tore through the turret as ammunition cooked off.

Niven gazed around the battlefield. Fire rose from several other panzers. Plumes of black smoke drifted over the Germans.

The crack of a tank gun caught his attention. He looked ahead of him and saw a panzer stop and fire at Montgomery's lines. His brow furrowed. If Jerry was banging away with that 37mm gun, then the gryphons must have missed it. No way would that crew fire and risk igniting that oil.

"Swiftwind! Drop me on that panzer dead ahead!"

"As you wish."

The gryphon flapped its wings and made a beeline for the panzer. Its main gun cracked again as Swiftwind pulled up over its rear. Niven felt the gryphon's hold on his waist and legs relax. He jumped down onto the panzer and gripped his Thompson. He bounded over to the turret, the panzer commander's torso sticking out of the cupola. He whipped his head around just as Niven appeared alongside him. The German's eyes widened as Niven fired his Thompson. Blood exploded across the German's chest. He slid back inside the panzer.

Niven extracted a grenade, a German one.

"Here! You can have this back now!" He shouted through the open hatch before tossing in the grenade.

Niven turned and hurried away from the turret. He dropped to his stomach just as a muffled thump came from inside the panzer. When he picked himself up, he spotted two SS troopers approaching to his right. Niven spun toward them and opened up with his Thompson. Both troopers fell to the ground.

"Time to go," he said to Swiftwind. The gryphon grabbed him by the waist and legs and lifted off into the sky. Niven spotted Sergeants Davis and Ladamire following his lead, dropping onto panzers and tossing grenades through the cupolas.

The gryphon carrying Sergeant Major Pike dove toward a panzer. Suddenly a stream of tracers from a half-track stitched the gryphon's side. The creature spasmed and twisted, letting go of the Sergeant Major.

"Pike!"

Dread gripped Niven's insides as he watched Pike slam into the ground and tumble several meters before stopping in a heap. He fought through the lump in his throat to shout, "Swiftwind! Get me over to -"

The half-track that shot down the gryphon rolled past the motionless form of Sergeant Major Pike. The machine gunner in the back lowered his weapon and opened fire. Pike's body twitched as bullets tore into it.

Niven stared unblinking. His body froze. Pike? Dead? The fact refused to sink in. He'd always seemed so . . . indomitable. Invincible. My God, could he really be dead?

Fury surged through him. It took a few seconds for him to realize Swiftwind was flying straight toward the half-track.

_You read my mind._ Niven's grip on his Thompson tightened. The German machine gunner in the rear compartment just turned and saw them when Niven opened fire. A couple rounds sparked off the armored sides of the half-track. Other rounds struck the German, who threw his arms over his head and fell backwards dead.

Swiftwind wheeled around and approached the half-track from the rear. This time Niven dropped a grenade into the driver's compartment. It went off seconds later, killing the German behind the wheel and bringing the vehicle to a halt.

Niven glanced back at Pike's body, clenching his teeth. This couldn't be real. He couldn't be dead.

_He is. Mourn later. You've got a battle to win._

He closed his eyes, trying to force Pike's death from his mind. When he opened his eyes, he strafed a group of SS troopers, inserted a fresh magazine into his Thompson, and shot up more Germans.

Several Opel Blitz and Krupp Kfz 81 trucks came out of the woods and stopped behind the German forces. Fauns and cheetahs jumped out of them, along with Kings Peter and Edmund. They quickly launched arrows while the cheetahs darted toward SS infantrymen. The British soldiers who'd driven the trucks set up their machine guns, mortars and anti-tank rifles and opened fire. Bullets and arrows and shrapnel cut down dozens of Germans. Three armored cars shuddered and stopped, their engines probably hit by 13.9mm rounds from the Boys. They became easy targets for his Commandos to finish off with grenades.

Niven let another grenade fall onto the Germans when a crazed roar reached his ears.

British soldiers poured out of the trenches, bayonets glinting in the morning sunlight. They charged the Germans, their united war cry carrying over the sound of gunfire and explosions.

British and Germans crashed into one another. Rifles and submachine guns went off a point blank range. Rifle butts swung and bayonets stabbed. Niven swore he saw General Montgomery himself knock down an SS trooper and impale the blighter with a bayonet.

Germans started breaking away from the melee. First one by one, then in groups. Soon all the surviving Germans broke and ran for the woods. British and Narnian soldiers continued to fire at them until the last enemy soldier reached the treeline.

"We did it, Swiftwind!" Niven cried out. "We did it!"

"A complete victory!" the gryphon responded. "'Tis truly a great day for Narnia . . . and for England."

When Niven spotted Montgomery, he had Swiftwind drop him off next to the General.

"Good work, Lieutenant. The way you and your men . . . and your newfound friends . . ." Montgomery looked over Niven's shoulder at Swiftwind, "performed today, you just may put the RAF boys out of business."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." Niven looked to the woods where the Germans had fled. "Hopefully Jerry will think twice before trying to invade England this way again."

"I'm sure they will, Lieutenant. Now perhaps we can try and find out the location of the German's entry point to Narnia."

"We have that, Sir. Got it out of some of the prisoners we took at Cair Paravel."

"Excellent." A smile spread across Montgomery's face. "Maybe now we can turn the tables on Jerry, and send our own troops through his wardrobe."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	16. Chapter 16

Heinrich Himmler held the telephone a good six inches away from his ear. Still, he could hear Hitler screaming through the receiver.

"How could this have happened? How could the Narnians have defeated our forces? They are primitives! Primitives, dammit!"

"They did have help from the British Army," Himmler offered.

"We outnumbered the British! The SS are our best troops. They had panzers and machine guns and artillery. And they allowed themselves to be beaten by mongrels and children!"

Himmler pressed his thin lips together. What could he say? The SS, his SS, had failed.

"Who led our invasion of Narnia?" Hitler demanded. "Who!"

"_Gruppenfuhrer _Kempf, _Mein Fuhrer."_

"Did he at least have the decency to die there and not return with the stench failure about him?"

"_Nein. _Kempf returned alive."

"Demote him!" Hitler yelled. "Make him a private. No, wait! Better yet. Demote him to lieutenant and put him in charge of garbage disposal at one of our bases. That's all he's good for!"

"I will see to it, _Mein Fuhrer."_

Hitler's angry breaths shot through the earpiece. "This was our best chance at invading England. We could have marched to London, slaughtered their government and military leaders, slaughtered the entire royal family. England would have degenerated into chaos. Now they will be ready for us. The British will probably send their soldiers to Narnia to prevent us from invading again. They will likely expand their wardrobe so their tanks and artillery, perhaps even airplanes, can be sent through."

"There is also another possibility we must consider, _Mein Fuhrer._ The British and Narnians captured several of our troopers. Some of them will undoubtedly talk. Perhaps they already have. They may have given our enemies the location of our entry point to Narnia. If that is the case, the British might use our wardrobe to invade the Fatherland."

"They wouldn't dare!"

"They could. There is no one in Narnia to stop them. Even if they do not launch a full-scale invasion through the wardrobe, they could capture the base in _Thuringer Wald. _The wardrobe to Narnia was not the only secret project there. If the British get their hands on all that research and equipment, it would be an enormous blow to our war effort. It might even jeopardize the future of the entire _Reich."_

Himmler waited for Hitler to respond. The pause lasted almost a full minute.

"That cannot be allowed to happen. Abandon the base, then destroy it. Bury the wardrobe forever."

"Yes, _Mein Fuhrer."_

A sharp _click_ came through the earpiece as Hitler hung up. Himmler sighed and gently replaced the phone in its cradle. He then leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. Anger and embarrassment swelled inside him. He had asked himself the same question Hitler had over and over again. How could the Narnians have defeated the mighty SS? His men had crushed army after army throughout Europe. Yet they could not do the same to a band of children and freaks of nature?

Anger lines dug into his thin face as he thought of _Gruppenfuhrer _Kempf. The man had distinguished himself in Poland and Belgium and France. Yet he loses this battle?

Himmler's scowl deepened. Oh yes, he would find the absolute worst pig sty of a base and ship that useless fool off to it. Perhaps somewhere on the Eastern Front, close to the fighting. With any luck, the Russians might shell it and put Kempf out of _Das Reich's_ misery.

He should also conduct reviews of the other surviving officers and men from the Narnia operation to see if any of them needed punishing.

Then he thought about Skorzeny. The man was recovering from a concussion he suffered during the fighting. While the SS expedition to Narnia met with defeat, Himmler had been impressed with the way the tall, scar-faced Austrian carried out the initial reconnaissance mission. The man possessed daring, intelligence, and knew how to inspire and motivate the men under him.

He decided to spare him any review or punishment. Though the mission he had been a part of failed, Himmler had a feeling _Hauptsturmfuhrer _Otto Skorzeny would make up for it in more ways than one.

**XXXXX**

"So this is it," Peter said as he stared at the lamppost. It looked just like the one they came upon when they first stepped out of the wardrobe at Professor Kirke's mansion.

Only this wardrobe didn't lead to England. Just beyond the cave in front of him was Nazi Germany.

_And we're about to go through it. We must be daft._

__ "All right, lads." Lieutenant Niven looked around at his Commandos. "We take it easy, and we take it quietly. There must be Germans on the other side, but we have no idea how many. Nonetheless, we need to find out exactly what's beyond that wardrobe. If we're spotted, Davis, Commander, chuck those grenades, then we all hoof it back here. Any questions?"

The other Commandos responded negatively.

"Be careful," Lucy called out, her eyes aimed at Peter.

"We will. Hopefully this won't take long."

Peter took a deep breath as he followed the Commandos. He kept his jaw clenched, not wanting to look nervous in front of Niven and the others. Inside, he had to admit, he was terrified. What if they walked right into an entire division of SS troopers? He glanced at the sword in his hand. Like that will do him any good against hundreds or thousands of rifles and machine guns.

_Just go in, take a peek, and get out. That's it. They'll never know we're there._

_I hope._

They entered the cave. It didn't take long before the feel of rocks and dirt gave way to the feel of wood.

_My God, I'm in Germany. _The grip on his sword tightened. He glanced at it again, imaging what it would feel like if he ran the blade through that monster Hitler and ended this damn war.

"What the hell?" He heard Fleming say.

Everyone stopped. The sunlight leaking from outside revealed a huge wall of rocks in front of them.

"What's with all the rocks?" Rowling asked.

"There's no way Jerry could have gotten past all this," commented Ladamire.

Niven stepped forward and pushed. He was soon joined by Fleming, Rowling and Peter.

None of the rocks budged.

"Germans must have blocked the entrance." Fleming studied the rocks. "I'll bet anything they were worried we'd try the same thing they did, use their wardrobe to invade them."

Niven snorted and shook his head. "This'll take dynamite and heavy equipment to get through."

"Neither of which we have in Narnia," said Peter.

"Who knows if we even can get through it." Fleming stood arms akimbo. "Looking at all this rocks and debris makes me wonder if Jerry kept that wardrobe in some underground base, then collapsed it when their invasion of Narnia went south."

"Mm." Niven stared at the blockage. "In which case, there could be hundreds, even thousands of tons of rock between us and the bloody Third Reich. There's no way we're going to get through this."

"Even better," Peter said. "There's no way the Germans can ever come back to Narnia."

**XXXXX**

The Pevensies and the Commandos used a capture German truck to drive back to General Montgomery's lines. The British Army held their position there in case the Germans attempted a second invasion. When they informed Montgomery of what they discovered during their recce, he told MI-6 head Stewart Menzies, who then informed Prime Minister Churchill. With the German wardrobe buried under God only knew how many tons of rocks and dirt, British leaders concluded that the Nazi threat to Narnia, and consequently the threat of an invasion of England, was no more.

Montgomery's men withdrew from their defensive lines and from Cair Paravel. They took with them what pieces of German equipment they could, most likely for engineers and intelligence people to study, Peter assumed. Or maybe for Commandos to use in future missions.

The German artillery, tanks and combat vehicles could not be taken back to England. Instead, British soldiers took extensive photos of them all, again probably for engineers and intelligence folks to study.

"Looks like you have your own motor pool now, Your Majesty," Niven joked with Peter. "Even your own armored regiment. Might come in handy if what's left of the White Witch's bunch want to have a go at you."

"I doubt it. Most of the tanks and artillery are burned and wrecked. And how long will we be able to use the trucks? There's no petrol in Narnia. I think the only useful thing we can do with those vehicles is melt them down and turn them into swords or shields or pots and pans and utensils."

Four days after the brief foray into the German wardrobe, the last of the British soldiers departed Narnia. General Montgomery, the Commandos and the Pevensies watched a group of riflemen walk past the lamppost and into a dark opening in the hillside, which led back to Professor Kirke's mansion.

"Thank you for your help, General." Peter shook Montgomery's hand, as did the rest of his siblings.

"Quite all right. Thank you for yours. Smashing plan you had with those gryphons. I doubt you'll have to deal with Nazis in Narnia any more, but if those blaggards do return, just remember, help is right past the doors of that wardrobe."

"We will, General." Susan smiled. "Thank you."

"Your Majesties." Montgomery saluted, then headed into the opening.

The Pevensies then turned to the Commandos. More handshakes were exchanged, even hugs, courtesy of Susan and Lucy.

"I wouldn't mind sticking around here a bit longer." Rowling stared longingly around the pine forest surrounding them. "Must be loads of fascinating things to see here. Unfortunately, there's a war on, and we're all needed in the world next door to Narnia."

"And what about you?" Niven turned to the Pevensies. "Are you ready to come home?"

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, Narnia is our home now," Peter said. "This world needs us, just like your world needs you."

"Yes, I suppose so." Niven smiled. "I'll just give Professor Kirke your regards then."

The Commando officer and the High King shook hands.

"Always know you'll have allies here in Narnia," Peter said.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. After what we've seen for you and your family, I think it's safe to say Narnia is in good hands."

With a round of final good-byes, Niven, Fleming and the other Commandos walked through the opening and back to England.

"I hope they'll be all right back there," Lucy said.

"I'm sure they will be, Lu." Susan put an arm around her sister's shoulders.

Peter bit his lip, wanting to reassure Lucy as well. But after what happened to Corporal Taylor and Sergeant Major Pike, one thing was certain.

No one could make any guarantees in war.

"I hope one day they'll all be in Berlin kicking Hitler's bloody arse," Edmund stated.

"One can hope," Susan remarked.

"Come on." Peter started to turn. "Let's get back to Cair Paravel. We've got a lot of work to do."

"Tell me about it," Edmund said as they walked by the lamppost. "I don't know how long it's going to take to fix all those holes and rebuild all those towers. Bloody Nazis made a mess of the place."

"Well thank goodness we don't have to worry about them anymo-"

"Well done, all of you," a booming voice cut off Lucy.

They all looked up. Peter's eyes widened. Susan gasped. Lucy's whole face lit up.

"Aslan!"

The great lion stood before them. "It is good to see you all again. Once more you have saved Narnia from darkness. I commend you all for your courage in the face of such great odds."

"Thank you." Lucy's smile spread across her face.

"Thank you." Instead of a smile, a frown formed on Peter's face. "But Alsan . . . so many creatures and men died. They didn't have to. I just . . . I . . ." His gaze fell to the ground.

"Yes, Peter. Speak your mind."

Peter swallowed. He stiffened his shoulders and sucked down a couple quick breaths. "Why didn't you help us? With the power you have, you could have easily defeated the Germans. Hundreds of lives could have been spared. How . . . I don't . . . I don't understand how you could just sit back and allow all this to happen."

The veins in his neck stuck out. Nervousness bubbled up inside him. Again Peter couldn't bring himself to look Aslan in the eyes. He felt he'd overstepped his bounds, like a son talking back to a father. Any moment he expected the great lion to scold him.

Instead when he glanced back up, he noticed a sad look on Aslan's face. Peter half-expected tears to flow from the lion's eyes.

"One of the hardest things for a father to do is to let go of his children," Aslan began. "To allow them to rise and fall on their own. Yet that is what all fathers must do, and I am no exception. This battle had to be yours and yours alone."

"But why?" Peter asked.

"You are right. I could have vanquished the Nazis, and many of those who died would now be alive. But what then? If you rely on a single individual to be the solution to all of your problems, in the end, you will only do harm to yourselves. To become so dependent on one being will lead you down a path of sloth, of want, of weakness. You will abandon your resiliency, and respect for yourselves. If you cannot respect yourselves, how can you expect those who follow you to respect you?"

Peter drew a slow breath, remembering one of the talks his father had with him about life in the military. He had echoed those sentiments, saying that the best leaders were the ones who earned the respect of the men under them. He saw that while fighting alongside Niven, how the other Commandos seemed to have all the faith in the world in him.

That was the sort of leader he desired to be.

Aslan continued. "You have all grown from this experience. Sometimes, growth can only occur through struggle and sacrifice and pain. But you and all those who survived this conflict emerged from it better, and stronger. Not in a physical sense, but stronger in your heart, your spirit. You have gained a new appreciation for life, for freedom. You have demonstrated your willingness to fight for those principles, even in the face of overwhelming odds, even without the aid of a single, powerful entity. Had those principles not been important to you and the rest of Narnia, then you could have surrendered and allowed yourselves to live under the rule of another tyrant. Yet none of your gave in. You showed how much the gift of freedom, how much Narnia and its people, mean to you. You have gained the respect of all the creatures you lead, and you have shown that in the face of adversity, you can and will stand up to it no matter what."

Peter said nothing. He wanted to be mad at all the deaths that resulted from this battle with the Nazis. But Aslan's words continued to reverberate in his head. Would he turn into a lazy king if he kept asking for Aslan's help every time a big problem cropped up? Is that the sort of king he really wanted to be? Would that attitude spread to his brother and sisters? The rest of Narnia? What would happen to this world if everyone became lazy and demanded Aslan do everything for them? Could Narnia grow strong and prosperous like that?

He remembered when father went off to war, how eager he'd been to show he could be counted on to take care of his family. Now he wanted to show he and his siblings could be counted on to lead Narnia. From what Aslan said, it appeared the creatures of this world did trust them to rule.

"Thank you, Aslan," Peter said. "I just wish there could have been an easier way for all that to happen."

"The important lessons in life are never learned easily." A smile stretched across Aslan's face. "And now, I leave Narnia in your very capable hands."

"Will we ever see you again, Aslan?" Lucy's voice cracked.

Again the great lion smiled. "You will. Not for a long time, but you will."

Lucy sniffled loudly. She then rushed up to Aslan and hugged him tight around the mane. "Good-bye. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, my child."

Susan also went over to Aslan and hugged him, with Peter and Edmund following.

With one last smile and a nod, Aslan turned and walked off into the forest. Soon he was gone from view.

Lucy sniffled, then pressed herself against Susan and cried.

"It's all right, Lu." Susan rubbed her sister's back. "He said we'll see him again."

Peter gave Lucy's shoulder a gentle squeeze, then looked back in the direction Aslan had left. As he reflected on their battle with the Nazis, along with the great lion's words, a newfound confidence filled him, a confidence he had been seeking since the defeat of the White Witch.

Confidence that he had what it took to be a good king.

_**NEXT: THE CONCLUSION**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_Now that FFN has an image manager to allow us to have "covers" for our stories, I'd like to take advantage of it. Unfortunately, I have no artistic ability whatsoever. If anyone is inspired to create a cover for this story, or any of my other stories, please PM me._


	17. Chapter 17

_Buenos Aires, Argentina_

_May, 1950_

Otto Skorzeny grunted as he looked at the stacks of papers and folders covering his desk. This had always been his greatest fear when he'd been with the Waffen-SS. That he would be promoted so far up the ladder he'd spend more time battling paperwork at a desk than battling the enemies of _Das Reich_ in the field. He vowed he'd do everything in his power to keep that from happening.

Now, five years after the war, here he was, spending hours and hours sifting through reports. Sometimes the monotony was broken when he led or accompanied Argentine police on raids to capture enemies of President Juan Peron. He also enjoyed sitting in on the interrogations and seeing the authorities put the methods he had taught them to good use.

The secret meetings with other Nazis who fled Europe after the war got his blood pumping. One never knew if the America's CIA, Russia's MGB, Britain's MI-6 or damned Jew agents from the Central Institute for Coordination were watching them, or preparing to swoop in and attack. Another thrill came from using his underground network, ODESSA, to help fellow Nazis avoid prosecution. Sometimes he got to play detective, hunting down the vast treasure smuggled out of Germany by Hitler's private secretary, Martin Bormann. He'd already recovered a good portion of it.

None of it, though, could compare to the excitement of flying gliders to a mountaintop prison and rescuing Italian Prime Minister Benito Mussolini, or he and his men dressing up as American soldiers and creating havoc behind enemy lines during the Battle of the Bulge.

_That's all in the past, Otto. All that remains now is trying to rebuild _Das Reich.

And sometimes, that meant having to work behind a desk.

Exhaling slowly, he picked up a report smuggled to him recently and opened it. He scanned the top part.

**_Schutzstaffel _File 7754392**

**Classification: Top Secret**

**Subject: Existence of Another World Inside the Earth**

Skorzeny leaned back in his chair and read all about the Hollow Earth Theory, how some in the Nazi Party believed there existed an opening at the South Pole that led to another world. The man who had given him the report told him rumors abounded that several high-ranking Nazis used that opening to escape this world after Germany's surrender, Hitler included.

Skorzeny knew that to be impossible. Hitler was dead. He'd heard from people who'd been in The Bunker during those final days of the war. They'd seen _Der Fuhrer's_ body, watched as it and that of his mistress, Eva Braun, were cremated.

Hitler was dead, he was certain of it. As for other Nazi officials, could they have fled to another world? Ten years ago he never would have believed such a story.

That all changed after his experience in Narnia.

If this report was true, could this other world they spoke of be Narnia? Surely there had to be other ways to get there besides a wardrobe in Britain, or another buried under thousands upon thousands of tons of dirt and rock in _Thuringer Wald._

Skorzeny chewed on his lip, his mind drawing him back in time to the Narnia expedition. He remembered one conversation with the eyeball-obsessed goblin Draut, how it spoke with reverence about the powers of the White Witch. The ugly little monster had also mentioned something called deep magic. Draut confessed he knew little about it, only to say it was a power most beings could barely comprehend.

_Perhaps beings as primitive as the Narnians, but beings such as ourselves . . ._

_Das Reich_ had boasted some of the greatest scientists in the world, men who made great strides in the fields of engineering and physics and other sciences. Even the Allies recognized that, as demonstrated by the fact they had gobbled up so many of Germany's best and brightest for their own ends.

But they did not get all of them. Several Nazi scientists remained at large. Skorzeny could use ODESSA to bring them to Argentina. But they would need a lot of resources to reach this alleged opening at the South Pole, and resources cost money. He was hesitant to tap into the treasure he'd so far recovered. Perhaps he could convince President Peron pay for his expedition. Not that he could tell the man his true intentions. As much as Peron respected him, Skorzeny doubted the President would believe a story about magical worlds under the Antarctic ice.

_I could tell him I learned of a secret stash of Nazi treasure. Peron is greedy enough to want to believe that._

Still, such an expedition would be costly to the government. Skorzeny decided it best not to approach Peron directly. He would use The President's wife, Evita. After all, she had Juan Peron's ear, and Skorzeny had much, much more of Evita than her ear. A smile spread across his scarred face as he thought of their next "rendezvous."

He nodded in satisfaction. He would get Evita to convince Peron to fund an expedition to the South Pole. If they could find that opening, if it indeed led to Narnia, and if the Nazi scientists could unravel the secret of the deep magic, Skorzeny was certain a Fourth Reich would rise from the ashes of the Third.

And this Reich would never fall.

**XXXXX**

_Outside London, England_

_May, 1959_

"Ian?" David Niven fixed his eyes on the man standing at the entrance to the cemetery.

"David. Well this is a pleasant surprise."

The two shook hands, Niven studying the former Royal Navy Commander-turned-author. Fleming still had a lean build, though more wrinkles had formed on his face since their last meeting. His dark hair also began to recede.

_You could say the same about yourself, old boy._

"So, I guess you're here to . . ." Fleming bit his lip, as though not wanting to finish the sentence.

"It's been ten years, now. We went through a lot with them. Since I was here, I figured I should pay my respects."

"My sentiments exactly."

The two walked into the cemetery, passing dozens upon dozens of gray tombstones.

"Congratulations on the Academy Award," Fleming said. "Well deserved."

"Thank you." Niven nodded.

"Maybe if we're lucky, we could both be working in film."

"Oh?" Niven raised an eyebrow. "Tired of writing spy thrillers? Want to try your hand at acting now?"

"No. I'm talking to some producers who are interested in turning my books into movies. James Bond in the cinema. Can you believe it?"

Niven slapped Fleming on the back. "Splendid. If the movies are anything like the books, they'll be a smashing success. Especially your new one, _Goldfinger. _Thoroughly enjoyed it."

"Thank you. If it's all right with you, I'd like to bandy your name about to the movie folk. How would you feel about playing the role of James Bond?"

"Well, after _Around the World in Eighty Days_, I'm always up for a good adventure film. Count me in."

"Excellent." Fleming grinned. "You can certainly bring some realism to the role, what with some of the adventures you had."

"Mm." Niven nodded and stared at the ground. Many may call what he experienced during the war as "adventure." He had other words to describe it. Words like "horror," "terror" and "tragedy."

"Tragedy" stuck in his mind as he and Fleming neared three grave markers. A lump formed in Niven's throat as he stood over them. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. He fought them back as he looked down at the names carved into the stone.

PETER PEVENSIE . . . EDMUND PEVENSIE . . . LUCY PEVENSIE. The year of their deaths was the same. 1949.

"A train crash." He shook his head. "A bloody train crash."

"I know." Fleming sighed. "Ten years and I still can't believe it. Those children ruled over a magical world, fought and won battles. Then they return to England and die in a train wreck. Doesn't seem just, does it?"

"No, it doesn't." But if life was just, Niven thought, then good soldiers like Sergeant Major Pike and Corporal Taylor and so many others would not have died during the war.

"Sometimes, though," Fleming said, still staring at the tombstones. "Sometimes I have this . . . feeling that they're all . . . someplace else."

"You mean like Heaven?"

Fleming shrugged. "Perhaps. I'm not sure. It's just . . . those times we conversed with them after the war, when they told us about all their other adventures in Narnia, there just seemed something . . . deeper, more mystical about that place than we could possibly have fathomed when we were there. Sometimes I get this sense that even though they're dead, Narnia will take care of its own."

Neither man spoke for the longest time. Fleming then turned to the former Commando and gave a sardonic laugh. "I know. Sounds daft, doesn't it?"

"It'd probably sound daft to the general population. Having been to Narnia ourselves, having heard the stories the children told us . . . maybe you are on to something."  
"I hope so."

The two men stared at the tombstones for about a minute before Niven bowed slightly. "Your Majesties. Rest in peace."

Fleming repeated the gesture and the words.

They stood there for another minute before turning and leaving. Niven took one last look over his shoulder at the tombstones, hoping Fleming was right, that Narnia's former rulers had gone to a better place.

**XXXXX**

_Bristol, England_

_August, 1971_

Six-year-old Joanne, or "Jo" as she liked to be called, held her mother's hand as they walked up the steps to the red brick house. Daddy, who walked in front of them with her 4-year-old sister Dianne, rang the bell. When the door opened, a plump woman with curled black hair appeared. Everyone said hello and hugged.

"Goodness, look at you, Jo. You're getting bigger and more beautiful every day."

"Thank you, Cousin Gloria." Jo smiled as the woman hugged her and pecked her cheek.

"Where's Arthur at?" Daddy asked as they walked inside.

"He's upstairs. He's doing . . . a bit better today."

Hearing that made Jo happy. Mummy and Daddy kept saying how sick Daddy's cousin, Arthur, had been. Maybe he was getting better. She hoped so. She liked Cousin Arthur.

They all went upstairs and into a bedroom, Mummy still holding her hand. Jo felt her get all stiff when they saw Cousin Arthur lying in bed. He was thin, his hair messy, and he looked pale. Jo frowned. He didn't look better, like Cousin Gloria had said.

"Arthur." Daddy walked up to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected." Cousin Arthur slowly sat up in bed. "Good to see you, Peter. Anne," he said, looking at Mummy. "Oh good, you brought Jo and Di with you."

"Well, you know Jo," Mummy said. "Hoping you'll tell her one of your stories."

"I think that can be arranged." Cousin Arthur smiled at her.

"Well, if that's the case," said Cousin Gloria, "why don't I put on a spot of tea while you entertain the girls?"

"Sounds good, luv. Thanks."

Cousin Gloria smiled as she left the room.

"We'll give you a hand," Daddy said as he and Mummy also left.

Jo took her sister's hand and walked up to the edge of Cousin Arthur's bed. She looked around the room, much of her attention on the large bookshelf, stuffed with all sorts of neat books where Cousin Arthur got his stories from.

"So what are you going to tell us today, Cousin Arthur?" Jo bounced on her feet while Di just stared at the floor. "Something by H.G. Wells? Or Ray Bradbury?"

"No, none of that today. What I want to do is tell you about something that happened to me during the war."

Jo made a face. "It's not going to be boring, is it?" She'd rather hear about something from one of Cousin Arthur's books. The made-up stuff was always more fun than the real stuff.

Cousin Arthur laughed. "I think it's safe to say this will not be a boring story. In fact, it's so interesting, a lot of people wouldn't want me to tell you. It's all a big secret, you see."

"Mummy says it's not good to tell secrets," Di said.

"Well you're mummy's right. You shouldn't tell secrets, most times. In fact, I could be in very big trouble for telling you this story."

Jo stiffened in fear. "I don't want you to get in trouble, Cousin Arthur."

He laughed again. "Oh, no need to worry, Jo. As sick as I am, there's not much they can really do to me."

Jo titled her head, wondering what Cousin Arthur meant by that. Before she could ask, he went on.

"It's just . . . well, it's a story I've been bursting to tell someone for years. Can't really tell any adults about it. They'd think I'm stark raving mad. But you girls, I know you'll appreciate it."

"Okay." Jo nodded.

"Good." Cousin Arthur sat up straighter in bed, his eyes brightening, as he began his story.

And what a story it was. Jo hung on his every word. She couldn't believe someone in her family had traveled to a magical world inside a wardrobe. Cousin Arthur said he was part of a big battle against the Germans and all these monsters that had been led by an evil witch. Despite her fascination with the story, Jo couldn't help but wonder why witches in all the stories she heard were evil. Surely there had to be some good witches out there.

Cousin Arthur spoke about winged creatures called gryphons. She liked that name. He said they looked like lions with wings. And they were very brave. They charged through bullets to fight the Germans and monsters. Cousin Arthur even flew on one. Jo tried to imagine what it would feel like to actually fly. Her Cousin Arthur was so lucky.

He spoke of other things. Grand castles, meeting kings and queens, talking with these half-man, half-horse creatures called centaurs.

"That all really happened to you, Cousin Arthur?" Di asked, sounding unsure.

"Cross my heart." Which Cousin Arthur did with his finger. "Everything I told you is one hundred percent true."

"That's amazing!" Jo beamed. "But why wouldn't you want to stay in Nah . . . _Naa-nee-ah?_ It must be more exciting than here."

Cousin Arthur smiled. "I suppose. But I think I was only meant to stay there for a brief time. Honestly, not a day goes by where I don't think of Narnia. I would have loved to have stayed there longer, see what else that world had to offer. But I had to come back to England and fight the Germans. Besides, if I had stayed there, I never would have met Gloria. I never would have gotten to know you and Di, then you'd never be able to hear any of my stories."

"That would be bad," Jo said.

She and Cousin Arthur laughed at that.

Her family stayed at Cousin Arthur's and Cousin Gloria's house for a while before getting back into the car and heading back to Winterbourne.

"Mummy, Daddy." Jo bounced up and down in the back seat as Daddy started the car. "Cousin Arthur told me and Di this great story. Did you know he went to this place called _Naa-nee-ah_ and he met talking animals and fought horrible monsters and got to fly on a gryphon?"

Daddy grinned at her. "Well, it sounds like Cousin Arthur told you one exciting tale."

"No, Daddy. Cousin Arthur said it was all true. Cross his heart. Right, Di?"

Her sister nodded.

Mummy and Daddy didn't seem happy to hear that. Instead they looked worried.

"Must be doing worse than Gloria let on," Mummy said.

Daddy cleared his throat. "Yes, well . . . time to be getting on home."

He pulled out into the street. Jo pushed back into her seat, feeling bad that Mummy and Daddy didn't seem interested in Cousin Arthur's story. How could anyone not be interested in a story like that?

Looking back years later, she would consider that visit to her Cousin Arthur's as one of the most important days of her life.

For that was the day that Joanne Rowling discovered that magical worlds were very exciting.

_**THE END**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_Footnotes on the fates of the historical characters featured in this story._

**Otto Skorzeny: **_Was captured by US forces shortly after Germany's surrender in 1945. He escaped from prison in 1948 and later wound up in Argentina as an advisor to President Juan Peron. He reportedly had an affair with Eva "Evita" Peron, until her death in 1952. Skorzeny would also serve as an advisor to Egyptian Army in the 1950s and reportedly trained future Palestine Liberation Organization leader Yasser Arafat. Skorzeny contracted cancer in 1970 and died in 1975 at the age of 67. Obviously, his dreams of a Fourth Reich were never realized._

**David Niven: **_Served with the British Army through the remainder of the war, and was discharged with the rank of lieutenant colonel. Niven resumed his film career in 1946, starring in such movies as "Around the World in 80 Days," "The Guns of Navarone," "The Pink Panther," "Death on the Nile" and "Separate Tables," for which he won the Best Actor Oscar in 1958. Niven passed away from ALS in 1983 at the age of 73. In all, he appeared in almost 100 films between 1932-1983. As for the James Bond reference in this story, there are reports to suggest that Fleming did envision Niven for the role of the British super spy for the first Bond movie, "Dr. No." Obviously, that part went to Sean Connery. Niven, though, did play James Bond in the spoof movie "Casino Royale," released in 1967. Niven was also mentioned by name in two of Fleming's Bond novels, "On Her Majesty's Secret Service" and "You Only Live Twice."_

**Ian Fleming: **_Remained with Naval Intelligence throughout the war and served as a planner for a special group of intelligence gathering commandos known as 30 Assault Unit. His first James Bond novel, "Casino Royale," was published in 1953. Fleming went on to write 10 more Bond novels and two collections of Bond short stories. The first Bond movie, "Dr. No," was released in 1962. A heavy drinker and smoker, Fleming died of a heart attack in 1964 at the age of 56. The third Bond movie, "Goldfinger," was being filmed at the time of his death._

**Stewart Menzies: **_Remained head of MI-6 until he retired in 1952. He passed away in 1968 at the age of 78._

**General Bernard Montgomery: **_Would go on to lead British forces to victory in the Battle of El Alamein, the turning point in the North Africa campaign. He would also lead British forces in Sicily, Italy and Europe. Following WWII, Monty served as Chief of the Imperial General Staff from 1946-1948, and as deputy commander of NATO from 1951-1958. He passed away in 1976 at the age of 88._

**Heinrich Himmler: **_Headed the SS and the Gestapo until the end of the war. Also was Reich Minister of the Interior from 1943-1945. He was one of the chief architects of The Holocaust which killed millions upon millions of Jews, other ethnic and religious groups, homosexuals and disabled persons. Himmler was captured by the Allies in May of 1945, but committed suicide by ingesting cyanide before he could stand trial for war crimes._

**Joanne Rowling: **_Better known by her pen name J.K. Rowling. She created the "Harry Potter" series of novels._

**Other Notes: **_The MGB Skorzeny refers to in the first scene was the predecessor of the more famous Soviet KGB. The Central Institute for Coordination was the predecessor of the Israeli Mossad._

_Thank you all for your readership and reviews. I hope you have enjoyed this story, and if you did, then check my action-packed original novel DARK WINGS, featuring mankind's battle for survival against otherworldly creatures. DARK WINGS is available on Amazon and as an e-book from smashwords-dot-com. _


End file.
